The End
by kazooband
Summary: Three months after the fall of Voldemort, a mass breakout from Azkaban forces Harry, Ron, and Hermione to return to a war they thought was over. Together, they must make new allies, fight for an uncertain future, and face their pasts.
1. Things in Night

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, Barbie dolls, Halloween costumes, and squeaky toys are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. Additionally, most chapter titles are lifted lyrics from songs. This one is from "Ballrooms of Mars" by T.Rex.

Author's Note: First off, I'd like to thank my beta, who also happens to be my Mom. This story would make a lot less sense if she hadn't been there, checking my work. Also, I owe a shout out to my friend Cathy for putting the idea for a Harry Potter/Alias crossover in my head. So, yes, this is a crossover, and please don't click the back button just yet if you're not familiar with the show, because the Alias characters function more as OCs than anything.

**Chapter 1: Things in Night**

_Cold._

_That was what woke Harry, but it was the unforgiving floor and the stiffness in his bound limbs that kept him that way. His glasses had been knocked askew and he awkwardly replaced them even though there was nothing much to see, the room was nearly dark. However, he could sense someone moving around in the shadows._

"_So nice of you to join me."_

"_Voldemort!" Harry yelped as he realized the identity of his company._

"_We really must stop meeting like this," Voldemort hissed. "I'll have to see what I can do about it."_

"_If you're going to kill me at least make a proper duel of it," Harry suggested desperately. "Only a coward would kill someone who can't fight ba-"_

_But it was no use. A bolt of red light erupted from somewhere in the shadows. It shot straight towards Harry and there was nothing he could do to stop it._

Harry woke with a start, his body surging with adrenaline. He couldn't see in the pitch black, but his ears strained into the deafening silence for any sound besides that of his own rapidly beating heart and his gasping breaths. With sudden determination, Harry lunged sideways to where he hoped his wand lay, but it was out of his reach. In the process, however, he discovered that something was tying his legs together. Wandless or not, he was about to try and curse off the offending restraint when a sound from the other side of the room caused him to pause and try to shrink into the floor.

On closer inspection of the sound, Harry discovered that it was in fact a person speaking, a groggy but concerned person.

"You alright, Harry?"

Everything snapped back into focus. Harry was not on the floor, but propped up on one elbow on a spare bed in Ron's room in the Burrow. By now, Ron was used to these nocturnal disturbances, to being woken in the middle of the night by a yelp or a thud from Harry's side of the room. Usually he would wake up just long enough to ask Harry if he was alright then roll over and fall back asleep. Harry, however, wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the nightmares that plagued his sleep.

As he untangled his legs from the sheets and mopped the cold sweat off his brow, Harry pondered the events of late. He had been having similar nightmares for almost his entire life, but those sporadic retellings looked like pleasant daydreams compared to the phantasms that had haunted him for the past three months.

All of them followed the same pattern of this most recent nightmare. All depicted some part of that night of hell.

In retrospect, he was lucky not to have died, bound hand and foot, on that cold, hard floor. And it was a veritable miracle that less than half an hour later he had claimed the largest victory in recent wizard history. Harry had defeated Lord Voldemort once and for all.

However, there were people who fought longer and harder against Voldemort than he, people who could not share in the victory. People like Remus Lupin and Severus Snape, both of whom were killed by Voldemort or his followers.

Harry flopped back on his bed suddenly devoid of all energy, but his racing mind wouldn't allow him to fall back asleep, a fact that didn't bother him in the least. He could live awhile without rest, but these dreams were quickly becoming unbearable.

However, after an hour of staring at the tricks his eyes played on him in the dark, Harry could stand his own waking thoughts no more than he cared to risk his unconscious ones. With nothing else for it, he slid out from under the covers and into the cool night, grabbed his wand, and quietly let himself into the hall. Once outside he lit his wand, pointed it at his watch, and discovered it to be almost three o'clock in the morning, fully two hours before he could expect anyone else to be awake. Harry wandered downstairs in search of a distraction, vaguely considering slipping back into Ron's room to grab his firebolt so he could fly somewhere, without exactly knowing or caring where. However, as he passed by the Burrow's sole bathroom on the ground floor, it occurred to him that taking a shower now would save him the trouble of having to wait in line with the Weasleys and Hermione later that morning. That decided, he turned on the water, disrobed, and stepped into the shower. The water was freezing and bit at his skin, but in his present state he much preferred its icy torture to the comforting embrace warmer water would offer.

A few minutes later Harry could stand the cold no longer, so he rinsed off the soap, turned off the water, and stepped back out of the shower, shaking the water off his feet and tying a towel around his waist. He glanced at the mirror and found himself staring into the eyes of someone he didn't recognize: his hair, which tended to feign civility when it was extremely wet, was lying flat against his head. Even the bit in back that always stuck up had been beaten into submission. Harry noted the way his bangs perfectly covered his scar, then angrily messed his hair back into its usual configuration.

However, now the mirror displayed the image of someone Harry didn't especially want to see at the moment. He tried to distract himself by examining his flexed bicep, but, suddenly unable to control his general frustration any longer, he aimed a punch at the mirror, landing it exactly where his reflection's nose was. The mirror shattered and fell with a crash. Cursing, Harry grabbed his wand and fixed mirror with a spell then carefully returned it to its place on the wall. His bruised and bloodied hand, however, was a different matter altogether. He was no healer, so he decided the best course of action was to use his towel to staunch the bleeding.

In an amazing feat of timing, a second before Harry actually carried out his plan, Ginny burst through the unlocked bathroom door, her eyes bleary but determined. In the moment of mutual horror that ensued, Harry became acutely aware of the fact that his clothes were still on the floor. Meanwhile, Ginny had turned so red that it was difficult to tell where her face ended and her hair began.

At almost any other time of day, Ginny would have darted out as fast as she came in, and they would have met at the kitchen table a few hours later pretending nothing had happened. However, the time it had taken her sleepy mind to process the situation had cost her a speedy escape; she was now obligated to an apologetic conversation.

"I heard a crash," she started feebly.

"Ah." Harry had suspected as much. In fact he would have been surprised if everyone in the Burrow hadn't heard it. That, however, didn't explain why Ginny had been the one to come running, but the wand in her hand provided some illumination. Ginny had turned seventeen only a few weeks ago and since then had been exercising her newfound ability to use magic outside of school without risk of expulsion whenever an opportunity presented itself. It seemed likely that she'd come down to fix whatever had broken, probably even in the hopes that the house ghoul had perpetrated the destruction so she could try her hand at banishing it. Harry understood completely, he'd undergone the same thing the previous summer, although he'd had to be a bit more discrete about it, as he'd been at the Dursleys' at the time, and a bit less frivolous in choosing his spells since living with the Dursleys had no longer provided any protection.

Ginny had taken to glancing between the mirror, the only thing in the room capable of causing a sound like she'd heard, and Harry's bleeding hand, which had started to drip to the floor between his feet.

"You broke the mirror, didn't you?" she asked.

"Fixed it, too," Harry mumbled defensively.

Ginny merely shrugged her reply and went back to examining the floor, so Harry sighed and said, "I should probably, um…" He trailed off, gesturing to his clothes.

"Harry, your hand," Ginny said suddenly, taking a step forward.

"It's nothing," Harry replied quickly. He covered his knuckles with his other hand and accidentally made contact with the broken skin, causing himself to wince, but he quickly forced it into a smile.

"But you should really…" she persisted, making a grab for his arm and missing.

"Ginny, I'm fine," Harry maintained, moving away a few steps, however he didn't have far to go before he'd backed himself into the shower curtain.

"You really should…" Ginny tried again, advancing toward him.

"Ginny," Harry said threateningly, knowing fully that even if his wand was within reach he wouldn't be willing to do anything to back up the tone in his voice.

At last, Ginny gave up and backed off, at least that seemed like her intention right up until she lunged back at Harry and grabbed his wounded wrist with such speed that Harry scarcely had time to flinch before she'd performed her spell. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to hear Ginny scream as she discovered she'd actually removed the bones in his hand or taken off all the skin. When she didn't, he opened one eye and then the other to discover that his hand was once again in peak condition and gripping her wrist tightly.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked.

"Hermione taught me," Ginny replied smugly.

"Oh," Harry said. He might have guessed that. "Thanks."

"No problem," Ginny said. "Sorry, for…uh…you know…"

"No problem," Harry repeated. "I should probably get dressed, though." It had just occurred to him how much trouble he would be in if Ginny's parents found them like this.

"Right," Ginny sighed. "Good night."

"'Night," Harry replied.

Ginny made to leave, but turned back a moment later.

"Um, Harry?" she asked.

"Yep."

"I'm gonna need my arm back."

"Right," Harry stammered, releasing her quickly.

She left, closing the door behind her and Harry followed a few minutes later, once again wearing his pajamas. However, there was no going back to bed anymore; his mind was even more full than when he had come downstairs. He pulled a random book off the shelf, replaced it quickly when he discovered it to be one of Lockhart's publications, located a cookbook instead, and started reading by wand light.


	2. Nothing's Changing

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, jewelry, key chains, and video games are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Acoustic #3" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Author's Note: I forgot to mention last chapter, that this story was mostly written between Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince, but is almost entirely Half-Blood Prince compliant. The only real difference concerns side-along Apparation, which, in the books isn't much different from normal Apparation, but in this story is extremely difficult and dangerous to the point that people will very rarely try it.

**Chapter 2: Nothing's Changing**

The Weasleys awoke slightly earlier than usual the next morning, drawn down the stairs by a strange combination of smells coming from the kitchen. What they found when they arrived there was not at all what they expected. Instead of Mrs. Weasley cooking up an elaborate breakfast, Harry was managing several pots with self powered spoons stirring their contents and overseeing something in a frying pan. No less than four open cook books were scattered around him. Stacks of bacon, toast, and eggs were already on the table, but apparently Harry hadn't stopped at breakfast. One of the pots seemed to contain a complicated soup, plates of chicken and potatoes were on the counter, and a steak and kidney pie was in the works.

Everyone approached the kitchen cautiously, in case this was one of the situations in which confronting Harry required some care and tact. Everyone, that is, except Ginny, who stepped ahead, reached past a pile or rolls, and pulled a stack of plates out of the cupboard. Harry seemed not to notice any of their presences. Mrs. Weasley took the lead, prepared to defend her kitchen if necessary, and Ron and Hermione followed behind her. They all knew that Harry had been driven to some unusual behavior recently, but this was by far the strangest example of it that they had seen.

"Thanks for making breakfast," Mrs. Weasley said cautiously. "It's relaxing to have a break from cooking." She did not look relaxed at all.

Harry didn't reply.

"It looks like we're going to have all the food we could possibly eat for a month," Ron tried, looking around the kitchen with some impressed glee.

Finally, Harry acknowledged his company, although it was only with a look, followed by a visual tour of the kitchen. He looked a little surprised, as though he hadn't realized just how much food he had made.

"How long have you been working on this?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Why don't you let me take over dear?" Mrs. Weasley said gently, taking a spatula out of his hand and steering him in the direction of the table.

Ron and Hermione joined Ginny and busied themselves about setting up forks and cups, the pair still giving Harry a wider berth than they would usually as he sat down. He took a set of flatware and thanked the person it came from without actually taking in who it was. Harry was not especially tired, despite his lack of sleep, but he felt as though he was in a daze. He could barely remember when he had decided to start cooking.

"Ron, put those down," Mrs. Weasley commanded suddenly.

"I can carry forks, Mum," Ron protested, his sheepish attitude only slightly covered by an air of annoyance.

If Ron remembered being woken up in the middle of the night by the result of Harry's nightmare, he had probably told Hermione about it, but when they sat down across from Harry and acknowledged him with a solemn nod, there was nothing in their demeanor to indicate that they knew anything about the incident. They had long since given up conversation on the subject of Harry's dreams and anyone's odd behavior.

Mrs. Weasley, however, had not. Now that all hints of a waiting time bomb in Harry were gone, she stole his plate away and filled it with food before giving it back, then started fussing over the tell tale bags under his eyes and his untidy hair. In the case of the later, there was little argument, Harry had always had a precarious relationship with his hair, but lately it seemed to have taken the rebellion a step further, or Harry had simply given up trying to manage it.

Between bites of bacon and toast, Harry had to repeatedly assure Mrs. Weasley that he was fine. Finally, he was rescued by Ron, who suggested that they take their broomsticks up to the paddock.

"After all, this might be the last chance we get for awhile," he said as a quiet afterthought.

Harry looked up from his toast at this. Ron was correct, of course; Ginny's seventh year at Hogwarts began in two days, both Harry and Ron's Auror training started within a week, and Hermione would be starting her job with the Department of International Magical Cooperation soon.

It was all Harry could do to keep from showing outward signs as he marveled at his lapse in ability to follow the passage of time. The summer had passed in fits and starts: a haze of bad dreams and mock Quidditch games. He wasn't sure whether he wished it would go on forever or that it was long since over.

Harry and Ron went upstairs to get their broomsticks, and when they came back down they were surprised to find Hermione standing next to Ginny and holding an old and beaten looking broom. Ron looked like he had half a mind to ask if his Mum had managed to loop her into doing the sweeping, but she beat him to it.

"It's Charlie's," she said, eying the broom skeptically and shooting spiteful looks at the witch next to her, "Ginny said I should go out with you as an end of the summer treat." She looked as though flying would be anything but a treat for her. Harry couldn't blame her; he wasn't sure if she'd even considered flying since the experience in the flying key room in their first year. She hadn't been terrible then, but it was more than six years ago, and most people maintained that one lost the feel for flying rather quickly. He was inclined to believe them, especially in Hermione's case.

More excuses for not flying than she could keep track of were probably running through Hermione's head, but for reasons unfathomable, she kept them all to herself and walked with Harry, Ron, and Ginny up to the paddock without complaint, paying careful attention to Ron's crash course in staying airborne.

Even though the average talent in the field was much diminished with Hermione there, Harry had to admit it was much more fun with her around, mostly at her expense.

When noon came along, with its bright sun and blazing heat in tow, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were too involved in a four person game of Quidditch to notice or care. It was mid afternoon before they paid any attention to the time at all.

Ron dove to recover a Quaffle he'd missed, making an offhand comment about how hungry he was. He was about to toss it back into play when Mr. Weasley appeared on the ground next to him with a particularly loud pop, nearly causing Ron to drop the ball again.

Mr. Weasley was looking extremely disheveled, even for him. He was out of breath and ghostly pale, like someone who had either just run a marathon or been told a very shocking and disturbing piece of news. It was the scared and hopeless expression on his face that suggested the latter.

"What is it, Dad?" Ron asked, fear prickling in his voice.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley called without preamble, "you're needed at the Ministry, quickly!"

Sensing the urgency of the situation, Harry did not bother with reaching the ground and simply disapparated where he was.

He reappeared in the center of the Weasley's living room and in the few seconds it took for him to steady himself, Mr. Weasley appeared as well. Disapparating from midair to the ground generally was not particularly intelligent, but was one of many tricks Harry had needed to teach himself to defeat Voldemort.

Harry tossed his firebolt on a nearby chair and waited for an explanation from Mr. Weasley, but none came. Instead, Mr. Weasley simply shoved Harry and a rather larger pinch of floo powder than was truly necessary toward the fireplace, saying, "Everything will be explained to you when you get there."

Harry barely had time to spit out the words "Ministry of Magic" before he was enveloped in the green flames.

Less than a minute had passed between when Mr. Weasley first appeared and when Harry stepped into the fireplace, so the trip through the floo network, violent as it was, gave Harry his first chance to think. Try as he might, he could only come up with one possible explanation: this had something to do with Voldemort or his followers; only that would scare Mr. Weasley so much or cause the Ministry to call in Harry, although he persisted in considering the hopeful possibility that this was some sort of test designed to scare new recruits to the Auror force.

So intense was the barrage he was subjected to upon arriving at the Ministry of Magic that Harry would scarcely have been surprised if he had not actually left the whirlwind of the floo network. At least ten people surrounded him and they all started talking at once. Fear was the main player in all of their faces. It would seem that this, indeed, was not a test.

After a few seconds of incomprehensible babble, Harry shouted, "Start at the beginning, what's going on?" He hoped he didn't already know.

Mr. Randall, the new Minister of Magic after Scrimgeour, stepped forward. He was a man short in stature but large in opinion and had proven himself worthy of his job during the cleanup after the crisis with Voldemort. His most striking physical feature was his face, which he tended to hold in a strange, tensed up configuration, as though he was constantly on the verge of sneezing. At the moment his features also showed a considerable amount of worry, something which only reinforced the impression that Randall suffered from a lot of allergies. As Harry watched the Minister, his nose started itching sympathetically, but he ignored it.

"There's been an attack," Randall said.

"What happened?" Harry asked, aghast, discovering that however much he had suspected what was coming he was not truly prepared for this sort of news. "Who attacked whom?"

"St. Mungo's was broken into and searched," Randall sighed, but it was the next part he seemed most reluctant to discuss, "by Death Eaters."

"I thought they had security there. Was anyone hurt? Did they take anything?" Harry blurted out as his mind began racing.

"Apparently some of the guards were drugged, others were being controlled," Randall explained. "The hospital was ransacked, but nothing was taken, nor were there any serious injuries." The Minister faltered slightly. "I suppose you already have an idea why that particular location was the object of their attention."

Harry nodded. There was a reason he had not asked why that particular place was attacked, and it had a lot to do with why he, Ron, and Hermione were still staying at the Burrow. They'd been under a sort of house arrest all summer, for their own protection, or so they were constantly told. The Ministry had been worried that any remaining dark wizards and witches would try to seek retaliation on the three of them for the downfall of Voldemort. It had taken the combined influence of Mr. Weasley and Percy to prevent the trio from being hidden out of the country. Of course, it was difficult to make the famous Harry Potter disappear entirely, so as far as the general population knew, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still at St. Mungo's, receiving treatment for injuries procured during the battle against Voldemort.

"I thought all of the Death Eaters were in Azkaban," Harry said, knowing that was exactly the question the Minister had been dreading.

"Yes, well, about that," Randall stammered. "You know it was unlikely we ever imprisoned all of them, but…"

"Some of them escaped again," Harry finished, not bothering to hide the accusing note in his voice.

"You must understand," Randall said, "Azkaban is no longer the impenetrable fortress it was when the Dementors were loyal to us."

"Sure," Harry sighed.

"All we really know is that the group was made up of former Death Eaters," Randall explained carefully. "An analysis of the Death Eaters who are missing from Azkaban indicates that their leader is probably Lucius Malfoy."

It was a mark of Harry's history with the Malfoys that this bit of information did not surprise him at all, although he was a bit curious about how Lucius had managed to win back the favor of the Death Eaters. "I suppose they're trying to regain Voldemort's power."

"Most likely," Randall agreed, after flinching slightly at the sound of Voldemort's name.

"Well, we've got to fight back, stop them before this happens all over again," Harry said, surprising himself with his own ferocity. "How much do most people already know?"

"Actually," Randall said, faltering slightly. "The patients who witnessed the attack have been asked to keep it to themselves; those who seemed unwilling have had their memory modified." A lesser man might have flinched while delivering this information, but Randall instead straightened up, as though daring Harry to criticize his actions.

If it had been Fudge who was standing opposite him, Harry might have been tempted to blow up in his face, but he at least had to admire Randall's resolve, especially considering the fact that if the situation was not taken care of the way he hoped, his actions would amount to no less than political suicide. Additionally, now was no time to criticize the actions of the man who would soon be his boss, especially since he could have Harry thrown out of Auror training without even a second thought. Instead, he said, "I thought Fudge already proved that we shouldn't keep people in the dark."

"Informing the population now would only cause widespread panic," Randall replied. "Plus, at the moment we have the element of surprise."

"How's that?" Harry muttered.

"Well, they obviously don't know where you are," Randall explained, as though Harry should have already considered this.

Harry stifled another sigh. Randall's so called element of surprise presumed that Harry would be willing to fight, a rather tall assumption, considering the terrible battle he had just been through. Of course he would fight, anything to keep history from repeating itself, but he didn't like being spoken for. "I can't do this on my own though, I'll need help."

"What about your friends?" Randall asked.

"I can't speak for them," Harry replied, cutting him off. "I don't know if you've visited the second floor recently, but you don't have many Aurors left, and…" Harry dropped his voice. "…the Order isn't in very good shape either." Even thought the battle was long over, it was agreed that the identities of those in the Order of the Phoenix should still remain secret.

"I've thought of that and I'm fairly certain I have the solution." Randall had a rather odd look in his eye.


	3. Buy a Gun and Start a War

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, coffee cups, stuffed animals, and throw rugs are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "A Rush of Blood to the Head" by Coldplay.

**Chapter 3: Buy a Gun and Start a War**

"Sydney, wait up!" Michael Vaughn called as he jogged a few steps across the Central Intelligence Agency office in Los Angeles to catch up with his quarry.

"Hi," Sydney Bristow replied, pausing momentarily until he fell into step.

"Where are you headed?" Michael asked.

"Bathroom," Sydney improvised quickly.

"Right," Michael said, giving her a skeptical look. "You got the memo too, then?"

"What memo?" Sydney maintained, but she swore inwardly. She could fool the most advanced lie detector tests ever invented, but Michael could still tell whenever she wasn't being truthful. It was a moment before she realized that the bathrooms were in the opposite direction from where she was heading. If Michael was not so perceptive then she might have been able to claim that she had simply gotten the geography of the CIA office confused. After all, technically, she'd only been working in the office for three days. Then again, Michael already seemed to know about the note.

"The one that requests your presence in briefing room ten at three o'clock, and says not to tell anyone about it," Michael prompted playfully as he summoned an elevator.

Realizing that Michael must have gotten the same memo, Sydney said, "Do you have any idea what this is about?"

"None," Michael replied.

"I didn't even know there was a briefing room ten," Sydney muttered, her lack of familiarity with the layout of the building now providing a source of annoyance instead of a ready excuse.

"It's hardly ever used," Michael explained, "usually just for high security and top secret missions."

"Sounds like fun," Sydney said as they stepped onto the elevator, the crowd within forcing the pair to forgo any further conversation

When they arrived at briefing room ten, two men were already inside, Director Kendall and someone Sydney had never seen before. The unfamiliar man was wearing a very strange selection of clothing: a sweater vest with a blue lab coat over it, black pants, and worn out white sneakers. His hair was balding on top but flaming red everywhere else and his spectacled face was covered in an expression of pure excitement. If they had not been standing in such a dubious room, Sydney would have wondered if someone had just pulled him off the street. Her next guess was that he had just returned from some deep cover mission.

"This is Arthur Weasley, head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects for the Ministry of Magic in London," said Kendall. "Mr. Weasley, this is Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn. They are two of our best field agents."

"Pleasure to meet you," said Mr. Weasley in a smart British accent. Sydney and Michael simply nodded dumbly as they shook his hand, still trying to sort out his job title. Had Kendall really said Ministry of Magic?

They all took a seat, Kendall and Mr. Weasley on one side of the table and Sydney and Michael on the other.

Kendall started. "As I'm sure you know, in the Middle Ages, people believed that Witches roamed the Earth. Anyone thought to be a Witch would be burned at the stake. Eventually the idea died out, but they were right. The CIA has known for some time that Wizards and Witches do exist. Several years ago, American Wizards discovered that someone was creating a spell of great destructive power. The CIA was called in to help stop him. The agreement was that we would help as long as high ranking CIA officers would be allowed to retain their memory of the incident. Now the Wizards of the United Kingdom are in need of outside help, and in order to prevent more people from knowing about Wizards our services have been requested."

Sydney and Michael were trying their hardest to take what the director was saying seriously, but their thoughts about the utter strangeness of these words must have shown on their faces, because Kendall asked, "Is there a problem?"

"Well, no disrespect intended, sir," Sydney said carefully, "but this all sounds so strange. I was just waiting for someone to jump up and say, 'April Fools.'"

"We thought you might feel that way." said Kendall. "That's part of the reason Mr. Weasley is here."

"Alright," said Mr. Weasley, standing up and pulling a slender piece of wood from his pocket. "Magic at its simplest deals with defying the laws of physics. I can cause your pen to fly, push a chair without touching it, or light up a room without burning anything." As he spoke he did all these things with a simple wave of his wand.

Although still utterly fantastic, the idea of Wizards and magic did not seem quite as far-fetched as it had a minute ago.

Mr. Weasley continued. "For several decades wizards of England have been terrorized by a wizard by the name of…" he paused for a moment, tried to speak, failed, cleared his throat, then continued "…Lord Voldemort." He paused again to shudder. "Three months ago he was killed and his followers captured. However, a few days ago some of these followers escaped, we believe their aim is to regain Voldemort's former power. We cannot allow that to happen."

"Why didn't you just go to other Wizards for help?" Sydney asked. "If you Wizards have the power to manipulate physics, then surely we can't be very good assets."

"The largest concentration of magical people on the planet is in England; when foreign Wizards need help they usually come to us," Mr. Weasley explained. "But almost our entire dark Wizard fighting force was destroyed in the final battle; we don't have the resources to stop the Death Eaters. A Wizard's strength is usually in power and strategy; we need logic, and maybe a few of those firearms. That is what you call them, isn't it? Anyway, the idea is that a small team would work undercover to bring them down. As this is what you people do for a living, we thought your expertise would help us."

"This would be a deep cover assignment of unknown duration," Kendall started.

"Wait, I'm not cleared for long term missions," Sydney interrupted.

"You are now," Kendall replied with a shrug.

"I've got a roommate and friends, they'll notice I'm gone," Sydney argued.

"I don't seem to remember telling you that this is a voluntary assignment," Kendall replied coolly. "I assure you, your friends will be well taken care of. Please continue Mr. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley had been watching the argument as though he wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but forced himself to move on from it at the sound of his name. He stepped up to the view screen, fiddled merrily with the remote control a moment, and finally managed to display a picture, even though he was pointing the control the wrong direction. He looked a little redder than usual and it was obvious that he was trying very hard to look like he was familiar with the technology.

"This is Lucius Malfoy," he said, indicating the screen, "the man we believe is leading the Death Eaters. I you should have pictures of the rest of the Death Eaters we know escaped from prison in your folders." He advanced the screen. "These three, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, will make up the rest of your team."

"My God," Sydney gasped, "They're just kids."

"Is that your son?" Michael asked.

"That is my son and they are only eighteen," said Mr. Weasley, "but it was these three who really defeated You-Know-Who, Harry especially." It didn't take a genius to read the sadness and regret in his voice.

"He killed someone when he was only eighteen?" Sydney asked, all attempts at rationality forgotten.

"Actually, he was seventeen at the time, but it was destiny," Mr. Weasley sighed. "They would keep meeting one another until one finally killed the other. We're just lucky Harry won."

Michael seemed compelled to change the subject, because he asked, "What kinds of tools are we taking with us?"

"You'll have all the standard gear with you: radios, bug killers, lots of firepower, and if you need something else you can ask for it, but the idea is that you two will pose as Wizards. That means that contacting us may be difficult, and you two are the only ones going," Kendall replied. "If there's nothing else, Mr. Weasley will escort you to England. Your plane leaves tonight."

Sydney, Michael, and Mr. Weasley left the room together, and it was impossible not to see the boyish excitement on Mr. Weasley's face.

"Haven't you ever been on an airplane before?" Michael asked.

"No," Mr. Weasley said, looking as though he was about to burst apart with excitement.

"Then how did you get here?" Sydney asked.

"I used a portkey. It's too far to Apparate here from England," Mr. Weasley replied.

Sydney and Michael stared at him, completely at a loss for how to respond.

"Portkeys are objects that have been charmed to transport people from one place to another when they are picked up," Mr. Weasley explained, sensing the reason for their sudden quiet.

"And Apparation?" Sydney pressed.

"Oh, that, it's just…" Mr. Weasley disappeared from beside Michael and reappeared next to Sydney without even losing step.

Sydney jumped sideways into Michael with surprise, a fact that startled even her just as much as Mr. Weasley's trick. This business with Wizards and Witches must have made her more nervous than she had let on, even to herself.

When she got control of herself again, she asked, "If you have ways to disappear and appear somewhere else, why are we taking a plane?"

"Well, only advanced Wizards can Apparate, but all of it, portkeys, the floo network, we don't know if it works on Muggles," Mr. Weasley replied. "Muggles being non-magic people, of course. Besides, I'm going to need the time to teach you to act like Wizards. And maybe, if there's time, you can tell me a bit about yourselves," he added hopefully.

----------------

Sydney was sitting alone on the private CIA plane, studying the pictures of the Death Eaters. After the last one, she found the pictures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione and paused on Harry's portrait, pondering. She found herself absently reaching down to trace a finger over his scar but blinked and straightened up in alarm when she noticed that his expression had changed. His eyes were following her finger, as though he was daring her to come any closer. That couldn't be right, pictures can't move. However, before long there was no denying it. When she moved to touch his forehead, Harry dodged nimbly out from under her and disappeared off the edge of the picture. Eyebrows crinkling in confusion, Sydney lifted up the picture and checked the back side, to see if she could discover where he had gone, but it was no use.

With a sigh, Sydney flipped the picture back over and studied the edge where Harry had disappeared. He had been forced to kill a person at the age of seventeen, but there had been nothing in those emerald eyes that suggested anything about it.

Unable to stand it anymore, she walked over to Mr. Weasley and sat down across from him. He had been excitedly watching the blinking light at the end of the wing outside his window, apparently not at all disappointed that it was too dark to actually see anything, and when he noticed Sydney sitting across from him he exclaimed, "Fascinating, simply fascinating. I don't suppose you could explain just how this airplane stays up, could you?"

He glanced over at her and must have noticed her confused expression, for his face fell and before she'd managed to change tracks to answer his question is said, "I'm sorry, did you want to ask something."

"Well, yes," Sydney replied. "But it can wait. I can try to explain airplanes to you if you want."

Mr. Weasley seemed to battle with himself for a moment, but said, "No, no, it's not important. It can wait. What were you going to say?"

"You said that Harry would keep meeting Voldemort until one of them was killed," Sydney started. "So they'd met before?"

"Yes," Mr. Weasley replied with a sigh. Michael apparently caught what they were talking about and came over to listen in.

"In fact, I think it's safe to say that no one person has suffered more at the hands of Voldemort," Mr. Weasley continued, then started relating all he knew of Harry's history with the Dark Lord. His narrative continued for almost the entire flight as Sydney and Michael inquired for further detail into each incident.

As they were coming in to land, Mr. Weasley finished explaining his own role in the final battle, his attention clearly divided between his story and watching the approaching ground through the window. However, he couldn't explain everything, saying that only Harry, Ron, and Hermione could do that. He also wished them luck in that pursuit, because to his knowledge the three of them rarely even talked about it with each other.

While the plane taxied along the tarmac, Sydney and Michael had just enough time to explain the basic principles of airplane flight to Mr. Weasley, who absorbed everything they said with rapt attention, as though they were fulfilling one of his life's greatest goals.


	4. The Changing of the Guard

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, ipods, action figures, and window displays are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is special because I came up with it all by myself.

**Chapter 4: The Changing of the Guard**

The actual nature of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's world hadn't changed one iota from when they had been playing Quidditch in the Weasley's orchard five days ago, but they couldn't have felt more different within it. The limousine the Ministry had given them to retrieve their new allies was filled with silence and the reluctant fear of three warriors who, having just survived one terrible battle, were dreading the inevitability of the next.

The past five days had been a flurry of activity, with few single moments lending themselves to memory, instead choosing to add to the general chaos of their minds. However, through it all they had been dreading this very moment. Even more than Harry's rushed trip to the Ministry of Magic, meeting those who would help them on this quest seemed to define the beginning of this new battle, something that they could no longer avoid.

All of them had gotten much less sleep than usual, even by their recent standards, and it certainly didn't help that they'd had to wake up incredibly early that morning to meet the plane. It had taken the Ministry several days to arrange Randall's plan for the help they would receive during this new endeavor, and all three had been quite surprised when they heard who it would be.

"Um," Harry said as he closed a file containing information about their new teammates, deliberately choosing an inarticulate method of breaking the silence. "You know we're going to be working with Muggles, right?"

"Of course, why?" Hermione replied sharply. Crookshanks lifted his head off her knee and fixed him with a similar glare.

Harry winced. He hadn't meant to start that debate again. All three had voiced some concern when heard that they would be working with a pair of spies who would pretend to be Wizards and Randall's confidence had done nothing to allay their fears, but they had eventually decided that they needed help and a fresh perspective more than they needed to keep the magical world a secret. Besides, if things got out of hand they could just modify the Muggles' memory anyway.

"Well, you know, Ron's dad isn't exactly a model wizard…" Harry started feebly, trailing off when he realized he'd inadvertently insulted Mr. Weasley.

Ron, however, chose to take Harry's statement the way it was meant and continued for him, "Most wizards are perfectly accepting of Muggle-borns, but they might not take so kindly to Muggles, especially in places like Hogsmeade, so they might not get a very warm welcome if their true identities are ever discovered."

"Or even if their true identities aren't discovered," Hermione added. "Squibs and near Squibs aren't treated very well either, you know."

"So I was thinking that we, at least, should be careful to treat them with respect," Harry said.

"…make them feel like they're at home," Hermione finished.

"Exactly," Harry replied.

"I was thinking the same thing," Ron added.

"Me too," Hermione said.

"I guess the trouble is figuring out how to do that," Harry sighed. Quite apart from his concerns about the people they were about to begin working with, there was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to beg his friends to leave now, before this new war began, but he couldn't find the words for it, and, as usual, many things were left unsaid.

The Ministry limousine rolled to a halt at the edge of a long runway and Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped outside. A small plane was slowly being taxied toward them and they watched as a group of men in orange vests rushed to meet it, pushing a rickety staircase forward on its wheels. They rolled the staircase up to a door on the side of the plane, which a daring flight attendant had pushed open.

Mr. Weasley emerged first, looking as though he'd just had a very exciting time. Harry seemed to remember Mr. Weasley saying that it was his dearest ambition to find out how airplanes stay up. Maybe he'd finally managed that. Next off the plane was a pair of people Harry, Ron, and Hermione had never seen before, but could only be the pair of Muggles that they were about to being working with. Casting nervous glances at each other, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked forward to meet them.

As the only person present to have met all five of them, Mr. Weasley began the introductions. Harry, Ron, and Hermione smiled and nodded when their names were called, but the sentiment was returned with an entirely different attitude. The Muggles' expressions were difficult to interpret: pity, perhaps, but disapproval too. Had the Wizards really left a bad impression already? Harry couldn't help but notice that Sydney's eyes kept raking the line of bangs that covered his scar and he had to force himself not to scowl in an attempt to make her stop.

When Mr. Weasley was finished, the two groups converged to shake hands and introduce themselves personally. Still unsure of how to act around these Muggles, Harry and Ron performed stupid little half-bows and Hermione narrowly resisted dropping a curtsy. Harry thought he saw a brief flicker of confusion cross Sydney and Michael's faces, but they didn't seem to mind this sort of behavior.

Small talk followed, but it didn't take long to realize what they'd previously thought of as safe topics weren't actually safe at all. The specifics of Sydney and Michael's jobs were on a need to know basis and Harry, Ron, and Hermione had forgone starting their work in favor of fighting the Death Eaters. The Muggles didn't know enough about magic to understand any explanation of what the Wizards had learned in school and the revelation that Sydney was a student at a college in Los Angeles was met with much confusion on the part of the Wizards until she explained that it was an increasingly usual thing for Muggles to remain in school until their mid twenties. After that, it took a further five minutes before Harry and Ron felt that they had a sufficient understanding of where Los Angeles was.

Feeling not at all reassured by their encounter so far, the group finally bade Mr. Weasley farewell and slid into the back of the Ministry limousine, which promptly drove away. Without consciously meaning to, they arranged themselves with Harry, Ron, and Hermione on one bench and Sydney and Michael opposite them.

Having exhausted most topics of conversation while still on the tarmac, the group simply stared at each other uncomfortably. From Hermione's lap, Crookshanks cocked his head and sniffed the air. He didn't stop even when Hermione started scratching his head between his ears. It wasn't an outright objection, but he seemed uncertain about something. Crookshanks' estimations of people had proven accurate in the past, so Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn't help but take note of his behavior.

Finally, Sydney said, "Where are we going?"

"Diagon Alley," Hermione replied. "We need to buy you robes and wands if you're going to act like wizards."

"Robes?" Michael asked.

"Oh," Harry stammered. Of course they wouldn't know what robes were like, the only Wizards they'd seen were Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley, and they'd all been wearing Muggle clothes. "Robes are…" Harry trailed off, trying to think of how to explain that Michael would be speaking an undefined amount of time wearing garments that looked very much like dresses.

Ron didn't seem very keen on explaining either, so he extricated one of his own robes from his pack and handed it over for their inspection.

Harry and Ron expected Michael to complain, but he simply held it up, nose slowly wrinkling.

"Um, you can wear your usual clothes under them if you want," Ron added.

Michael still didn't respond. Instead, Sydney said, "Why would we need wands? We won't be able to use them, will we?"

"No, you won't be able to do any magic," Hermione explained, "but you'll need them to pass as wizards."

"And you don't think anyone will notice that we never use our wands," Sydney pressed.

"I thought it was your job to make people think you're something you're not," Ron pointed out. Then he gasped in pain as Harry stomped on his foot and Hermione smacked his shoulder. A moment later, he clamped a hand over his mouth as he realized what he'd just said.

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

"It…um…it'll take people longer to notice if you both have wands," Hermione said at last.

The Muggles didn't respond and the silence persisted all the way to Diagon Alley.

Long after the silence became unbearable, the Ministry car finally stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron and the group gratefully got out. However, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione started toward the entrance to the pub, Sydney and Michael hung back, looking confused.

"Where are we going?" Sydney asked in response to their curious glances.

Harry and Ron exchanged baffled looks, but Hermione understood immediately and said, "My parents couldn't ever see it at first either. We're going to the Leaky Cauldron, which will lead us to Diagon Alley. We're standing right in front of it."

Sydney and Michael glanced back up at the wall in front of them and gasped in the confusion.

"You can see it now?" Hermione inferred.

Sydney nodded.

"Come on," Hermione said, it'll make more sense when you get used to everything.

Sydney and Michael looked like they were fairly certain that nothing would ever make sense again, but followed anyway.

As they walked inside, Harry began to consider just how to explain what had just happened to the Muggles, but the confusion on their faces evaporated and was replaced with blank looks, as though they frequently walked into buildings that they hadn't been able to see. Harry was impressed: they sure had figured that out fast. As far as he knew, no one had gotten the chance to tell them about Muggle repelling charms yet. Maybe working with these Muggles wouldn't be so bad after all.

Feeling much more confident, Harry turned around, but after one look at the room he stopped, entirely unsure of what to do next. Without his noticing, the entire pub had fallen silent and every set of eyes in the room were resting expectantly on him. A few people had even gotten out of their chairs and were advancing toward him hopefully.

"Um…hi?" Harry said, wishing he'd anticipated this and worn his invisibility cloak, which was, unhelpfully, still in the Ministry car.

Unfortunately, most people seemed to take his brief statement as an invitation to come forward and shake his hand or ask for pictures and autographs. It was several agonizing minutes before he managed to escape out the back door with Ron, Hermione, Sydney, and Michael. As Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped the correct block, Harry glanced over at Sydney and happened to catch her eye. The Muggle looked away immediately, but she wasn't quite so quick to erase the scrutinizing gaze she'd been perusing him with. Harry glared back for a moment, wondering why she'd taken issue with all the attention he'd had to contend with, it wasn't like he'd been asking for it.

The moment the group stepped into Diagon Alley, Harry wished he'd stayed in the Leaky Cauldron. It felt as though someone had put a spotlight on him. All around, people would stop and stare as they passed and the hiss of whispers grew steadily louder as more and more people became aware of his presence. Several times, Harry only narrowly convinced himself not to ask Ron and Hermione if they could help Sydney and Michael on their own so he could Apparate back to the Ministry car and wait for them there. He supposed Sydney might encourage that idea. She'd ceased her silent criticism of the attention he was gaining, but there was something in the way she kept meeting Michael's eyes that suggested that she wasn't at all in favor of the situation.

Despite all the people staring at Harry, they window shopped their way over to Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions without incident, having only been hung up briefly at the entrance to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The window display had boasted about a new invention called the Snake Charmer and Harry and Ron had only narrowly resisted the impulse to go inside and investigate. Thus, they couldn't help but feel disappointed when they slipped inside the robe shop to the tinkling of a tiny bell over the door.

Madam Malkin was sitting behind the counter and glanced up from her magazine at their entrance. Hermione came toward her with Sydney and Michael, but they brushed roughly past her and addressed the witch themselves. Hermione blinked several times in confusion before remembering herself and joining Harry and Ron by the door to watch the exchange from a distance.

"We both need a few sets of robes," Sydney said in such a perfect accent that the eavesdropping wizards looked up at each other in surprise. Harry doubted that even a linguist would have spotted her as a foreigner.

"Of course," Madam Malkin replied, "if you don't want to be measured again we can use the patterns from your current robes."

"It'd be better not to," Michael said in an equally good British accent, "we've been in the mountains of France for several years studying trolls. Our old robes are beginning not to fit as well as they used to."

"Right this way, then," said Madam Malkin, showing them to the back. "So, you were studying trolls. Did you learn anything interesting?"

"Actually, we only just got back and we're not allowed to discuss it until we speak with the Ministry," Sydney improvised. Some distance away, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged impressed looks.

A few minutes later, Sydney and Michael came out of the back room and Harry moved to intersect them on their way to the counter. Just as they were starting to look worried about how they were going to pay for the robes, Harry managed to slip a handful of Galleons into Sydney's hand and the transaction was completed without any further mishap.

Once outside, Harry and Ron heaved very audible sighs of relief, but Hermione was looking with apprehension in the direction of Ollivander's wand shop instead. "Miss Bristow and Mr. Vaughn can't go in there," she said.

Ron gave her a sudden and unexplained confused look, but a moment later he seemed to figure out what Hermione meant.

"Why not?" Sydney asked.

"It'd be strange enough if you went in there to get your first wands at the age of, what, 25?" Harry said, deliberately aiming low.

"Then we'll say we broke our old ones," Michael replied. "I assume that happens."

"It does, but it'd never work, he says he can remember every wand he ever sold," Harry explained. "And even if you said you got your original wands somewhere else, he'd make you try them out to make sure they work for you, but none of them ever would."

"So Hermione and I can say we broke our wands and get replacements," Ron suggested.

After several more minutes of discussion, this was still the best plan they could muster, so Ron and Hermione passed their wands to Harry and he gave them some money in exchange.

They sat down at a table in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor to wait. Harry watched as Ron and Hermione walked away but didn't turn back to his companions when they were out of sight. Sydney watched him curiously for a moment, and then realized suddenly that he might have done some sort of magic that made it so he could still see the pair. At least, she thought that might be possible. No one had really taken the time to explain everything that magic could do, she realized bitterly.

Harry might have noticed that he was being observed by someone closer than the giggling group of witches who were hovering near the entrance to Flourish and Blotts, or just gotten bored with watching people enter and leave Gringotts. At any rate, he eventually spun around to face the table, but instead of starting a conversation he merely looked at Sydney and Michael and gave them each an uncomfortable smile.

Sydney rolled her eyes and started looking around for something that could act as a conversation starter, but Harry noticed, pulled himself together, and asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Sure," Sydney replied, feeling as though she could have lived with the hunger if someone would just give them more answers about exactly what they were doing there.

Harry, however, seemed quite content to carry on with food as the topic of discussion. "Ice Cream doesn't make for a very good breakfast, but you're welcome go get some." He pulled some more gold out of his pocket as he said this. "There are other food shops around, but if you want a real meal you'll have to wait until we get back to the Leaky Cauldron."

"We'll wait," Sydney said quickly, silencing Michael with a glance. She'd chanced a look at the menu of the ice cream shop while Harry was speaking and while she supposed that they would have to become accustomed to eating food containing cockroach clusters eventually, she much preferred the idea of eating one last normal meal first.

"Oh," Harry said, looking somewhat dejected. He'd hoped that this topic would last them until Ron and Hermione got back.

"Ron's father said you first encountered Voldemort when you were a year old," Sydney prompted, hoping to steer the conversation in a direction that actually had some relevance.

"That's right," Harry sighed, turning some of his attention back searching passers by for signs of Ron and Hermione. If Sydney had brought up any other topic he might have latched on to it, but he wasn't in any mood to discuss Voldemort.

"And he'd been hunting you from then until you finally killed him?" Sydney pressed, a strange note in her voice.

"Rotten luck," Harry muttered dismissively, hoping that making her think he wasn't interested would make her reluctant to pursue the topic any further.

However, if Sydney thought something was important, she was not at all the type to let it rest until she was satisfied that something had been accomplished. "That must have been difficult."

It took all the self control Harry possessed to stop himself from yelling at her about how she had no idea how difficult it had been, and luckily Ron and Hermione happened to come back before he did something stupid or Sydney pressed further. Both of them looked extremely annoyed.

"Everything go alright?" Harry asked, a bit more angrily than he intended.

"Fine," Ron snapped back, as they gave Sydney and Michael the new wands and took their own back from Harry. The Muggles took the offered tools without question, but Harry couldn't help but notice that the wands looked somehow foreign in their hands, but he couldn't examine the matter further for the wands were quickly tucked out of sight.

"You don't sound very fine," Harry said, returning his attention to Ron and Hermione. His own anger was dispersed by his curiosity to figure out the cause of theirs.

"Ollivander is a very perceptive man," Hermione replied cryptically.

"And by perceptive, you mean…" Harry trailed off, hoping for their sake that they didn't mean what he thought they did.

"…we spent the entire time with Ollivander suggesting that we'd broken our wands in some lover's quarrel," Hermione said with a wince, as though just saying it was equivalent to reliving the experience.

"Ah," Harry stammered, not quite sure what to say. After all, Ollivander was remarkably close to the truth.

"At least now if we ever actually break our wands we'll already have replacements," Ron said uncomfortably, apparently hoping to change the subject.

"We were going to get some breakfast," Harry offered, grateful for the excuse.

Sydney and Michael, who had been caught between the impulses to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible and to offer advice, perked up considerably at the idea. Ron looked excited at the prospect as well. He seemed to think that food was just the cure for being subjected to romantic advice from a strange old man.

They wound there way back through Diagon Alley, much more slowly than before. While they had been busy, the shoppers around them seemed to have decided that Harry was, in fact, approachable, and stopped him with increasing frequency. Eventually, Ron and Hermione decided that they were wasting far too much time and braved the disapproval of the crowd to pull out the red faced and shaking Harry. Finally, they claimed a table at the Leaky Cauldron and ordered their food.

Harry glanced around uncomfortably. The pub's patrons hadn't mobbed him upon his entrance, but it seemed that everyone in the immediate vicinity was listening in on their conversation. With a sigh, Harry raised his wand and cast an Imperturbable charm on the floor around their table, hoping that he'd remember to remove it when the waiter came back with their food.

"What kept us from seeing this place from the outside?" Sydney asked, staring out the window. Muggles were passing by, but not a single one of them glanced inside.

"There's a Muggle-repelling charm around the outside, although it's a very mild one," Hermione explained. She caught Ron's eye and elaborated before he could ask if she'd recently run across a book called _Diagon Alley: A History_. "My parents are Muggles and they can never see the outside of the Leaky Cauldron at first, someone always had to point it out to them."

"And these Muggle-repelling charms," Sydney pressed. "Are they in a lot of places?"

"They're on most magical places that Muggles could find on their own," Hermione confirmed.

"So we'll probably come across them pretty often while we're here," Sydney continued.

"I suppose," Hermione said, eying Sydney strangely.

They broke of their conversation when the waiter arrived with the food. Harry released the Imperturbable charm to allow him through and the two women didn't resume speaking until he'd replaced it.

"And it hasn't occurred to you that Michael and I will get hung up on these charms?" Sydney said, completely ignoring the plate of pancakes in front of her.

"I suppose you will," Hermione admitted.

"Well isn't there anything you can do about it?" Sydney asked. "You asked us here to help you, but we won't be very useful if we can't even walk through doors without one of you there to tell us where they are!"

"Oh," Hermione breathed. Even Ron stopped chewing to consider the magnitude of the problem.

"Well, they're just charms, aren't they?" Harry said after taking a moment to consider the dilemma. "Maybe there's some kind of counter charm."

"An anti Muggle-repelling charm?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Sure, why not?" Harry replied with a shrug.

"But it can't let all the other Muggles into the magical world as well," Hermione reminded them thoughtfully. "I'm sure there's a way, though. I know a few of the Muggle repelling charms well probably come across, I could give it a try."

"Well need to be able to get through all of them without even knowing they were there," Sydney interjected. Michael nodded in agreement.

"Alright," Hermione said. "That's a little more difficult."

"I'll bet Flitwick could do it," Ron suggested. "Better than those slouches at the Ministry, anyway."

"But Flitwick's at Hogwarts," Hermione said. "I'm sure if I just knew what all the charms were I could come up with a countercharm. The Ministry must have some sort of record."

Harry and Ron both stared at her skeptically.

"Or not," Hermione muttered into her coffee.

"So we need to go to Hogwarts," Ron stated.

"It would be easiest to take the train," Harry offered.

"Excellent timing, too," Ron agreed. "It leaves for Hogsmeade at eleven o'clock every day."

"But what about the barrier?" Harry asked. "What if Sydney and Michael can't get through?"

"There's got to be a Muggle repelling charm around that one," Ron confirmed. "You never see any muggles leaning up against the barrier."

"Well, I'm sure we can figure out a way to get them through. All the muggle repelling charms I've heard of don't force Muggles to go away, they only make them want to," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"Alright, we can deal with that charm, whatever it is," Michael interjected. "Just as long as we don't make a habit out of running into them."

"Does anyone have a better idea?" Harry asked hopefully, but he knew that such an idea would be hard to come by. All forms of magical transportation were useless and as far as he knew, no roads extended as far as Hogsmeade, and Mr. Weasley's flying car was still running wild in the Forbidden Forest.

No one else came up with anything, so they finished their breakfasts while fruitlessly discussing possible Muggle-repelling charms they might encounter at the barrier and how to get past them. Despite Hermione's former assurances that she was familiar with a few Muggle-repelling charms, all they could come up with was the fact that her parents had never accompanied her onto the platform and she had never thought to ask why. However, Sydney and Michael still maintained, albeit, in a very annoyed way, that whatever the charm was, they could handle it. Harry was far from confident despite their enthusiasm, but when they returned to the Ministry car, he directed the driver to King's Cross Station without complaint.

"Once we get finished at this Hogwarts we should probably stop using the limousine," Sydney said when they were underway. She spat the name of their destination, apparently annoyed that the wizards had neglected to explain the exact nature of the place. Mr. Weasley had mentioned that Hogwarts was a school, of course, but their companions shouldn't simply assume that they know everything about a world they hadn't known existed yesterday

"She's right," Michael added. "If and when these Death Eaters catch on to us, constantly traveling in Ministry cars will be too easy to track."

"We need to find something less conspicuous," Sydney finished.

"Nobody uses cars at Hogwarts," Ron laughed, "Hogsmeade either, come to thi- ouch!"

"You're both right, Miss Bristow and Mr. Vaughn," Harry said carefully, pulling his elbow away from Ron's ribcage. "But we don't know if magical transportation works on Muggles. 'Course we don't know that it doesn't either."

"Alright, for starters, my name's Sydney," the muggle started. "He goes by Michael."

"Right, sorry," Harry muttered.

"We'll keep that in mind," Hermione said, shooting both wizards a look. "Someone at Hogwarts might have an idea about whether magical transportation will work."

Sydney's eyes narrowed at the mention of other forms of magical transportation, but she didn't press the matter.

"Dumbledore would be the person to ask if he were still alive," said Ron with a note of sadness in his voice.

"Then we should try McGonagall," Hermione decided. "As Dumbledore's successor she's probably privy to a lot more information than the other teachers."

"Then I guess we're headed for the right place," Harry said.


	5. Magic Filled the Air

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, folding chairs, sticky notes, and erasable pens are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Ramble On" by the Led Zeppelin.

**Chapter 5: Magic Filled the Air**

By the time they reached King's Cross Station, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sydney, and Michael were still struggling to even have a decent conversation. In fact, they'd hardly even spoken since Hermione suggested that Harry send Hedwig to McGonagall, letting her know that they would be coming. None of them were especially looking forward to the nine hours they were about to spend on the train together. No one spoke at all as they carefully arranged their possessions and Pig and Crookshanks' cages on a trolley, not even when one of the trunks slipped off and nearly crushed Ron's foot.

When they reached the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, Harry took a moment to explain what was supposed to happen. They opted for the casual approach, leaning through the barrier instead of running at it. Harry and Ron knew what it was like to hit it at a dead run and not be able to get through.

Watching the trolley roll through the wall had gone a long way toward convincing the Muggles that it was possible to get through the barrier, but Sydney and Michael still looked skeptical as they leaned up against it. They didn't seem at all surprised when nothing happened. Harry stepped up beside them and touched the wall. As he'd expected, he felt nothing.

"I suppose this feels just like any other wall to you," Harry sighed.

"Yes," Sydney coughed.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

"Do you smell that?" she replied.

"Smell what?" Harry said.

"I guess there is a Muggle-repelling charm here," Sydney gasped.

"There must be a way," Harry said desperately.

Sydney and Michael were now leaning heavily against the wall: it was getting difficult for them to breathe. Frantically, Harry ran his hand over the stones. It still felt like nothing more than thin air. In his haste, his hand must have touched one of Sydney's arms because for a moment it felt like they were stuck to each other and then they fell through to the other side. Hermione must have caught on to this fairly quickly, because a moment later she and Michael appeared with Ron following shortly after.

Since there were other wizards around, Sydney and Michael tried to look as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but their thoughts were betrayed by the way their eyes kept flicking to the wall they had just walked through. They were still gasping for breath.

"Guess we found the solution to our transportation problem," Hermione said. "One of us just has to be touching them and it works like normal."

"I don't see anything normal about this," Michael muttered quietly.

"Like a trunk couldn't go through the floo network on its own, but if there's a wizard with it…" Ron said, more or less ignoring Michael's statement.

"I'd still like to see if there's a way that they can travel by themselves," Harry said. "They aren't trunks, they're people. What if they get in trouble and need to get out fast but one of us isn't there?"

Sydney and Michael exchanged a look. They suspected the wizards didn't notice they were doing it, but they didn't appreciate being spoken about as though they weren't there at all. The wizards had only barely redeemed themselves when Harry said that they weren't trunks.

Hermione might have noticed their mutinous looks, but whether she did or not, she said, "What do you think?" She directed her question at Sydney and Michael.

"I agree with Harry," Sydney replied. This seemed to satisfy the wizards, but Sydney thought that was the only way she could answer, after all, their knowledge of this Wizard transportation was woefully inadequate, as the barrier had just proven.

A train whistle sounded, startling the group out of their discussion. They pulled their luggage on board the train, found a compartment to themselves, and proceeded to spend the first half of the ride hashing out the details of Sydney and Michael's cover story and demonstrating wand movements, so it would look like the Muggles were skilled with their wands even though they couldn't actually use them.

Sydney and Michael seemed to catch on easily enough, although it couldn't have been plainer that they felt completely idiotic waving a stick around and expecting sparks to fly out. Still, there seemed to be something fundamentally wrong about how the Muggles behaved with their wands. Hermione was the first person to determine what it was.

"Wait, no one holds their wand like that."

"Like what?" Sydney asked, following Hermione's gaze back to her own hand, which was resting limply on her knee, lightly holding her wand.

"With the wand between the fingers," Hermione clarified. "We always grip it with our entire hand."

"Alright," Sydney said as she and Michael shifted their grip.

"Remember, wands aren't pencils," Hermione continued. "They aren't easily replaceable. They are your lifeline."

"Alright," Sydney repeated scornfully.

Hermione seemed likely to continue her lecture anyway, but Ron interrupted her, saying, "What's a pencil?"

"Oh dear," Hermione breathed as she, Harry, Sydney, and Michael straightened up, suddenly realizing their problem. She dug around in her pack for a moment then straightened up with two quills, an inkwell, and some parchment, which she handed to Sydney and Michael.

"You write with quills?" Sydney asked skeptically as she examined the feather.

"You know what they are?" Hermione replied, sounding relieved.

"Sure," Sydney said with a shrug. "But they went out of style about two hundred years ago."

"Then you don't know how to write with them," Hermione sighed.

"It can't be that hard," Sydney muttered, dipping her quill in the inkwell and setting it to parchment, leaving an almighty blot. When she glanced up at the Wizards she noticed that they were all purposely looking somewhere else and biting down their laughter.

Things didn't get much better from there. Sydney constantly had to force herself to write big enough to read her words in the thick ink trail, the feather tickled her whenever she wasn't expecting it, and the loud scratching sound the quill made did nothing to ease her encroaching headache. However, no matter how much trouble Sydney was having, it was nothing compared to the left handed Michael's difficulties. The entire side of his hand was covered in black ink from all the times he'd placed it in what he'd just written and he'd finally taken to writing completely sideways, with some very lopsided results.

It was nearly an hour before the Wizards agreed that Sydney and Michael were skilled enough at writing with quills to stop practicing.

After the witch came by with the food trolley, Hermione and Ron spent some time catching up on their sleep, using each other as pillows. Sydney and Michael hadn't slept in over a day, but used the time to check their equipment instead, sitting rather closer together than mere coworkers might and whispering a playful argument about something. Harry was staring absently out the window when a particularly large click startled him out of his reverie. He turned to find Sydney putting a gun back in her suitcase.

"Sorry," she said when she saw him watching her. "I was just checking the cartridge. It can be kind of loud."

"It's alright," Harry said and was about to turn back to the window, but before the silence got too awkward he added, "I was thinking, and I want to apologize."

"Apologize for what?" Sydney asked without looking up from her electronic bug killer. She didn't quite manage to hide the hopeful note in her voice. Maybe now they'd get an explanation about why the Wizards tended to ignore them.

"For bringing you both into this," Harry sighed. He looked like he had something else to say, but either he couldn't pin it down or he didn't want to bring it up.

After shooting Michael a look and fighting off the urge to pretend to fall asleep, Sydney stopped fiddling with the bug killer and looked up at Harry. "This is our job."

"I know that," Harry replied, "but…"

"We can handle ourselves," Sydney said, cutting him off. "This might not be like any mission we've ever been on, but we've faced danger before and we'll face it again, and if you really think we're not up to this, then I would like to know why you asked us here."

"That's not it," Harry said defensively. "It's just that, if this plays out anything like last time, the situation is going to get pretty tense, and these Death Eaters are ruthless, I just didn't want anyone to get involved who didn't have to."

"We were asked to do a job and we're going to do it," Sydney snapped. "If you have a problem with something, why don't you just come out and say it?"

"No problem," Hermione said. Harry, Sydney, and Michael whirled around. Both Ron and Hermione had woken up without their noticing. Hermione was giving Harry a look that clearly stated she was annoyed with him for starting an argument with their companions.

"Well, since we got that settled," Ron said, checking his watch, and discretely trying to change the subject. "I suppose we're almost there; we should get changed."

"Ron, not that your Mum's cooking isn't excellent, but I can't wait to have some of that Hogwarts food again," Harry said, shiftily. In fact, now that he'd had time to think on it, he wasn't looking forward to returning to that terrible battle against Voldemort at all.

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something about house elves and slave labor, but she restrained herself.

"Ah, dinner," Ron said. "I'd thought you forgot about food altogether. How long ago were those Cauldron Cakes anyway?"

"About five years according to my stomach," Harry said with a forced laugh.

"Mine seems to think it was ten," Ron replied.

"After dinner we can find Flitwick and talk about those charms," Harry said.

"What about Muggle-repelling charms as we go into Hogwarts?" Michael asked.

"Yes," Sydney added. "We can't afford to run into charms like that last one at every turn, so if you know any more specifics about these…"

"Go ahead, Hermione," Ron said. "You're the one who has _Hogwarts: A History_ memorized."

"Alright," Hermione replied, adopting her usual 'just swallowed a dictionary' tone. "First you will feel like you have forgotten to do something terribly important, and be compelled to leave and do it immediately. From the gate, Muggles only see an old broken down castle and a sign that says 'Do Not Enter.' After we pass through the gate, if you have a radio you will hear a bulletin warning you of a severe storm entering the area, then it'll go to static. None of your electronic equipment will work in Hogwarts: all the magic interferes with electricity." Hermione paused momentarily, a troubled expression creeping over her face. "There's something else. I think they called it the last defense, but it hasn't been used in a thousand years. I don't remember what it does."

"Will we be able to see the castle normally once we're inside?" Sydney asked.

Hermione sat thoughtfully for a moment then said, "I don't know, I can't think of any record of a Muggle who's been inside Hogwarts."

"I guess we'll just have to find out ourselves then," Michael said.

"What about Hogsmeade?" Ron asked suddenly.

"Damn," Hermione said. This was a great indicator that something was up; usually Hermione was the one who told others off for swearing.

"What?" Harry asked. "Is it really that bad?"

"That's just it," Hermione said frantically, "I don't remember. We studied Hogsmeade in History of Magic; I should know what it is."

"Well, no one can blame you for forgetting something from that class," Ron replied.

"And we did Muggle-repelling charms in Muggle studies," Hermione continued.

"Which you only took for a year," Ron reminded her.

"We'll figure it out as we go," Sydney sighed. She was beginning to wonder if the group had done any sort of preparation or research at all about the needs of Muggles in the magical world.

"But Hogsmeade is the only all magic settlement in all of England," Hermione cried, "they've got to make sure that any Muggles who find it don't want to stay."

"We'll find out when we get there, its okay," Michael assured her.

"Anyway, if it's too bad, we'll figure out how to stop it or get you out of there as soon as possible," Harry said.

The train began slowing down, so any further discussion was put on hold as they pulled on their robes, gathered their baggage and prepared to disembark.

When the train stopped and everyone got off, but Sydney and Michael felt immediately lost.

"I thought they said this was a city," Sydney said.

"They did," said Michael, failing to hide the apprehension in his voice. "Maybe it's on the other side of the trees."

"Funny place for a train station, then," Sydney replied, "it looks like these trees go on for miles."

"Maybe this is that Muggle-repelling charm," Michael suggested.

"Could be. Hey, Harry-" she trailed off. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, nor were any of the other passengers from the train.

"It must be the charm," Michael said. "We'd better wait for them to sort this out."

"I am not going to stand here and wait for them to figure what's wrong," Sydney muttered. "There must be something around here somewhere."

She chose a random direction and began foraging her way forward, and, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop her, Michael followed.

"You hear that?" asked Hermione as she watched Sydney wander aimlessly around Hogsmeade station. "They definitely can't see us."

"How long would it take you to come up with the counter charm?" Harry asked.

"I'd need to know exactly what they're looking at first," Hermione replied.

"Sydney said something about trees going on for miles," Ron pointed out.

"Yes, but that's not specific enough," Hermione sighed. "Muggle repelling charms are very powerful; I need to know exactly nature charm does before I can counter it. I'm not sure if I could counter the charms on Hogwarts, and I know what they do."

"Then let's try a more direct approach," Harry said.

He stepped between Sydney and Michael and grasped them both by a shoulder. The result was instantaneous.

"Harry!" Sydney exclaimed. "Where are we?"

"Hogsmeade station," Harry replied. "You still can't see it then?"

"No, just a lot of trees," Vaughn explained. "I'm guessing you can't see that."

"No," Harry replied. "Hermione's willing to try and come up with a counter charm, but it will take her awhile. There's a carriage waiting for us about three meters away; could we just guide you to them?"

"Alright," Sydney sighed. She didn't like the idea of being so out of control, but she couldn't see any other way to deal with this.

Harry called Ron over and together they guided Sydney and Michael as though they were blind. The pair couldn't even see the carriage until they were inside of it and they had to travel several meters before it looked like they were clear of the trees. After that, based on Sydney and Michael's descriptions, they could see everything normally except for a dense forest in place of the village.

Sydney was looking around out the windows when something must have caught her eye, because she started staring intently out the window to the front and asked, "What's that?"

"You can see them, can you?" Harry asked tiredly, not looking out the window himself. "It's a thestral. A winged horse that is invisible to everyone except for those who have seen someone die."

"Oh," said Sydney, her curiosity in the morbid creature greatly decreased.

As they came closer to the castle, Sydney and Michael became much more agitated, spontaneously moving to check their bags then forcing themselves to stop. Eventually, Michael took to chanting, "It's the charm, it's the charm," under his breath.

As they came around a bend, Harry, Ron, and Hermione craned their heads so they could look out the windows to see Hogwarts, all three battling urges to both wince and smile. Sydney and Vaughn looked up as well, but the site they saw was a sad, broken down castle, not at all the glorious image that met the others' eyes.

Observing this, Hermione took hold of Sydney's arm then asked, "Can you see the castle now?"

"No, everything looks the same," Sydney replied.

"The charms around Hogwarts must be too powerful," Hermione sighed.

"What about that final defense?" Sydney demanded.

"I still don't know," Hermione cried.

"Don't worry," Harry assured them. "Just describe everything you see so Hermione can start on a counter charm."

When the carriages rolled to a halt in front of the main door they grabbed their bags, trunks, and cages and stepped off. Sydney and Michael looked with apprehension toward what they still saw as a broken down castle, but they followed Harry, Ron, and Hermione to the front doors. Just before Hermione pulled the door open, Harry put a hand on Michael's shoulder and Ron, catching on, took Sydney's arm.

Feeling much reassured, Sydney and Michael stepped over the threshold, but the wizards seemed to disappear as soon as they were inside. The Muggles shot confused looks at each other, but they knew from experience that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still there and they started describing what they saw as quickly as they could. Sydney was just starting on the roof when a beam came loose and a huge block of wood came swinging toward them. She would have screamed for help, but there was no time. A fraction of a second before they would have been hit, the world changed. Strangely, Ron still had her by the arm and Harry hadn't moved from Michael's shoulder. Sydney's breath caught in her throat as she looked around, finally able to see that this place was every bit the fantastic castle the wizards had described.

Sensing Sydney and Michael's wonder and amazement, Harry said simply, "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Wow," Sydney said, allowing herself to display her emotions for the first time since she'd arrived in London.

"What happened?" Michael asked. "Why did you disappear like that?"

"It was the charm," Hermione explained. "Being in contact with you didn't help; Professor McGonagall had to do a spell."

The Muggles spun around to face a tall witch in green robes who inclined her head politely at their stammered words of thanks.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked. "You looked terrified."

"The ceiling collapsed," Sydney explained. "We were about to be crushed."

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's the last defense. It's designed to knock out any Muggles who come inside so they can be sent back to the Muggle world."

"That beam could have killed us, not knocked us out," Michael said.

"But remember the beam wasn't actually there, that way you could be knocked out by a spell, wake up in a hospital, have some doctor tell you you're lucky to be alive, remember only the beam, and vow never to explore broken down castles again," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"Very astute, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said.

"Thanks," Hermione replied, looking very much as though the headmistress had just told her she'd earned twelve N.E.W.T.S.

"You may let go," McGonagall said, turning to the others. "They will be able to see the castle normally. Mr. Potter, your owl arrived here several hours ago. I believe she can be found in the owlery."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said as he let go of Michael's shoulder and Sydney and Ron released the death grips on each other's arms.

"We were about to come and find you," Harry stammered, adrenaline still coursing through him.

"My office?" McGonagall asked.

At that Ron's stomach gave a particularly loud rumble.

"Or perhaps the Great Hall," McGonagall suggested. "Dinner is no longer being served, but I'm sure the house elves won't mind sending something up."

The vote for the Great Hall was almost unanimous, with only a little argument from Hermione, but she gave up when she saw how excited a house elf looked when McGonagall summoned it to request that some leftovers from dinner be sent up. When they stepped inside, Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved automatically for the empty Gryffindor table, but caught themselves when they saw McGonagall walk straight toward the head table. They shot one another uncomfortable looks but followed her.

"What's the problem?" Sydney whispered.

"It's nothing really," Ron replied. "It's just that we only graduated about three months ago, it feels weird to sit at the teacher's table."

McGonagall didn't seem to notice or care whether the former students were feeling embarrassed, because she simply sat down and poured herself a cup of tea while the others cast wary glances around the room as they helped themselves to the soup in front of them.

"I am aware of the details of your mission," McGonagall started. "And now that you're here, I'd like you to consider staying at Hogwarts for as long as you need."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Sydney asked. "This is a school. If we're tracked back here the Death Eaters might try to attack. That would put all the students in danger."

"Hogwarts has faced far worse dangers in the name of resisting evil," McGonagall sighed. "You need to be based in a location central to the wizarding world."

Since Hogwarts was a nine hour train ride from London, arguably the physical center of England's magical community, most of them decided she probably meant her statement figuratively.

"Why not the Ministry of Magic, then?" Ron asked, a little slower on the uptake than the rest. At any rate, he didn't actually require an answer. The look McGonagall gave him served that purpose quite efficiently. "Never mind," he muttered.

"We can't Apparate from here directly," Hermione said. "We'd need to leave the grounds first."

"That never seemed to slow down Professor Dumbledore," McGonagall pointed out solemnly.

No one wanted to argue that Dumbledore tended to create portkeys whenever he wanted despite Ministry regulations, or that he wasn't in the company of Muggles who likely couldn't use the floo network. Thus, it was decided that until their presence became impractical or too much of a danger to the students they would stay at Hogwarts.

"I don't seem to remember asking you to come here," Professor McGonagall prompted a few minutes later. "Is there something you thought you could find?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said, taking up the initiative. "There is the problem of Muggle-repelling charms. We were hoping that Professor Flitwick might be able to do a counter charm that would take care of them all at once. I couldn't think of a way." She added the last statement with a note of regret in her voice.

"That's quite understandable," McGonagall said, "The Muggle repelling charms were developed by Wizards who studied charms their whole lives, and it would take a charms master to create a spell that would resist all of them. Fortunately, Professor Flitwick is always up for a good challenge."

"There was also the question of transportation," Sydney reminded them.

"We were hoping you might know if the floo network and portkeys work on Muggles," Ron continued.

"Unfortunately, I don't," McGonagall replied. "No one does. Muggles are not lab animals."

"And there's no way to find out?" Sydney asked.

"Not without subjecting you to several dangerous tests," McGonagall replied.

"We're willing to try," Sydney maintained.

"You can't," Harry said adamantly. "If something goes wrong you could end up a thousand miles away from where you wanted to be, or even die. You're too important to us to risk that."

"Some wizard had to try it first," Sydney muttered, feeling inclined to track down the nearest book that could tell her what this floo network was and figure out how to use it herself.

"Can we figure this out tomorrow?" Ron asked with a huge yawn.

Sydney looked like she wanted to continue the argument anyway, so Harry said, "Maybe Flitwick's charm will help. Besides, Ron's Dad said you didn't sleep at all on the plane, so you haven't slept in two days."

"Your belongings have already been brought up to your rooms," McGonagall said.

"Where are we staying?" Hermione asked.

"Substitute teacher's quarters," McGonagall replied.

Ron had chosen this inopportune moment to take a drink of his pumpkin juice and choked on it in his surprise.

"Where?" he coughed, reaching for a napkin.

"We have a couple spare rooms usually reserved for substitute teachers," McGonagall explained.

"Then I guess if anyone asks, our reason for staying here is substitute teaching," Harry said reluctantly. "Is that really a good idea?"

"As long as the teachers you substitute for take a few days off every once in a while, your presence will remain justified, and you will only have to take a limited amount of time away from your actual mission," McGonagall continued. "Harry, you'll teach Defense Against the Darks Arts, Ron, flying lessons, and Hermione, Charms…"

"What about us?" Sydney interrupted. "We can't teach something we don't know."

"Not a problem," McGonagall replied. "We have a number of subjects that don't require the use of magic. Miss Bristow, you can teach Muggle Studies, and Mr. Vaughn, History of Magic. I'm sure both the professors and-"

"Wait, History of Magic?" Hermione stammered, her interruption delayed because she'd been struggling to comprehend the Headmistress' statement. "But Professor Binns is a ghost, he can't get sick. Legend says that he hasn't taken a day off in a hundred years."

"Actually, I believe it is closer to a hundred and fifty," McGonagall replied. "However, as I'm sure you're aware, History of Magic courses at Hogwarts have been substandard for approximately the same amount of time, something which I won't allow to continue. This is the perfect opportunity to help Professor Binns get used to the idea of exploring other ways to spend the afterlife before I let him go."

"Alright then," Hermione said uncertainly, shrugging at Harry and Ron.

"As I was saying," McGonagall continued, turning back to Sydney and Michael. "I'm sure that the Professors and your companions will be more than happy to tutor you. You'll find your rooms behind the picture of Bertie Bott on the third floor. The password is Grindelwald."

"Good night, then," Harry said as they got up to leave.

As soon as they were out of the Great Hall and relatively alone, Michael sighed, "We've got to teach."

"Don't worry," Hermione assured him. "History of Magic isn't much different from the history you're used to, there's just new people and dates. I'm sure the students will be happy to have you teach them, too. It'll be a nice change from Professor Binns."

"Muggle Studies," Sydney said, "Should I be offended?"

"'Course not," Harry replied.

"I'm the one who should be offended," Ron muttered, "Flying lessons, honestly. She does know I was about to start Auror training, doesn't she?"

Harry shot a look at Ron, which he hoped dared him to come up with a subject he'd rather teach, then turned to Sydney and continued. "You may actually have a harder time of it than Michael. He only has to learn more history, something you have been doing since primary school. You have to look at your own technology and way of life through the eyes of a culture you hardly know, and you have to do it well enough that the students don't spot you for a Muggle."

"And you will only be teaching years three and up," Hermione added. "Even the Muggle born students will be familiar with wizard culture by then, so you will have to be very careful not to slip up."

"Professor McGonagall said our rooms were behind a picture, and that there was a password," Sydney said. "What did she mean?"

"Oh, that," Ron laughed, suddenly in much higher spirits. "You'll see." He stepped through a doorway and spun around to face them, arms outstretched. "Welcome to the grand staircase, home to the most moving pictures in all of England."

The subjects of the pictures in the area nodded their heads in agreement, catching Sydney and Michael off guard even though Ron had warned them. They stared in contained awe at the multitude of pictures, all of which were moving.

Harry led the way up the nearest staircase, but before they were even halfway up, the staircase started moving. He sighed and caught Hermione's eye, who seemed similarly annoyed. They hadn't been away from Hogwarts for that long, how could they forget that this was the very staircase that led someplace different on Fridays? They'd never caught in the act before, but it shouldn't have been that difficult to guess that it would have to physically move in order to perform its trick.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. He aimed a kick at the next stair, but thought better of it at the last moment, and spun around to sit on it instead. "We'll have to take the long way now."

It was nearly all that Sydney and Michael could do to keep their wonder under wraps, but Sydney managed to ask, "You mean there's no other way to get there using the stairs?"

"Not unless you're keen on going via the seventh floor," Hermione replied.

"It's a wonder you ever made it to class on time," Vaughn said as the staircase came to a halt and they stepped onto solid ground.

"Actually, this sort of thing usually doesn't happen," Harry muttered.

The trip back to the other side of the school was relatively uneventful until they saw Mrs. Norris slip around to the corridor they were about to enter. They could hear Filch's hacking cough from down the hall."

"Oh no," Ron moaned.

"Oh, come on," Hermione sighed. "We've got to stand up to him eventually. Besides, we're not students anymore."

"No," Ron cried, "we're substitute teachers. What makes you think he'll take any kinder to us now?"

"Unless you've got a better idea," Harry said, "double back and take the stairs perhaps?"

"What about the secret passage behind the statue of the one armed wizard?" Ron suggested.

"That's two floors up and on the other side of the castle," Hermione reminded him.

"Oh," Ron said. "Well there's got to be some alternate route."

"Just the stairs," Harry replied. Ron gave him a skeptical look, so he added, "Trust me; I've got the Marauder's Map memorized."

"Fine," Ron sighed.

Filch was at the end of the hall, nearly through with mopping the floor, Mrs. Norris weaving around his feet.

Looking completely impressed with himself and his plan, Harry cleaned everyone's shoes with a charm then swept past them into the corridor. Ron and Hermione followed reluctantly, and Sydney and Michael brought up the rear, attempting to hide their confusion with confidence.

As they approached, Harry called, "Evening, sir."

Filch looked up, confusion etched over his grizzled features. They were nearly past before he gathered himself enough to call them back.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Filch looked from their questioning faces to their lack of dirty footprints across his recent work, searching for something to punish them for.

He must not have found anything worth a detention, because he looked at Sydney and Michael and said, "Who're they?"

"Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn," Sydney replied with rather less hesitation than Harry, Ron, and Hermione would have preferred. The teachers and staff had proven themselves trustworthy, especially those who had been there while Dumbledore was headmaster, but they'd always had some reservations where Filch was concerned. "We're all to be substituting this year," Sydney continued.

"Five substitutes," Filch muttered to himself, "unheard of. No point in keeping them here at all. Well, go on, get out of here!"

"Good night," Harry replied with the slightest hint of a bow.

As soon as they were out of earshot Ron let out a sigh of relief, "For a minute there I thought he was going to forget we already graduated and chuck us in detention for being out after hours. Nice plan, though, be nice to him. I never would have thought of that."

"He knew something was up," Hermione said nervously. "He was right too. Why would there be five substitutes all the time?"

Harry and Ron cringed as they realized the implications of this flaw in the plan. It wouldn't take most students five minutes to realize that something strange was going on. Even though they'd been reluctant to use Hogwarts as a base at first, now that they were back they couldn't help but wish that the end of their stay hadn't suddenly become much sooner than they had anticipated.

"Why don't we all say we're apprentices, then?" Sydney suggested. "We'd be here training to become teachers."

"Part of some new Ministry program," Michael added.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked first at the Muggles, then at each other, their confusion slowly melting away into excitement.

"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed.

"It would make perfect sense!" Hermione echoed.

"That's why we brought them along!" Harry said.

"But it shouldn't be a Ministry program," Ron decided. "That lot would never be able to come up with something that brilliant."

"We should tell McGonagall," Hermione said. "She could convince a few people that she came up with it. That'd be good enough for most. She might even want to start a real program like that. It'd keep dolts like Umbridge from becoming professors at least."

"Grindelwald," Ron said suddenly, causing the portrait of Bertie Bott to swing forward to reveal a large archway into another room.

Harry and Hermione looked at him, somewhat surprised. Sorting out the final details of their cover story had distracted them so much that they couldn't remember reaching the portrait.

"We've been standing here for at least a minute," Ron explained, sensing the reason for their confusion.

The group stepped into a large common room with a hallway stretching off to the right. Under different circumstances, Sydney might have allowed herself to express some wonder at the nature of their living space and the means by which they could access it, but she was too busy smoldering at the fact that the Wizards had taken her idea and not even allowed her any input into how to implement it.

"I guess our rooms are down there," Harry said, pointing to a hallway connected to the large common room.

"There's only two," Ron announced, glancing down the hallway and counting the doors.

"They probably usually don't need more than two substitutes at a time," Harry replied. "It shouldn't be a problem; we're all used to sharing space."

"That's odd," said Hermione, glancing down the hallway.

"What?" Harry asked, following her gaze.

"The house elves left our things outside the rooms," Hermione replied as she approached the neat piles of trunks and bags left outside the two doorways. "It's as though they didn't know how we wanted to divide it- oh…" she trailed off.

If waiting for Filch to let them leave was uncomfortable then this silence was torture. Were they to divide up with men in one room and women in the other? Or give Sydney and Michael their own room. Whenever they were on missions together, Sydney and Michael always tried to keep their feelings for each other buried, it was a time to be objective, not emotional, but evidently either they weren't doing as thorough a job as usual or these young Wizards were far more perceptive than they had yet been given credit for. At any rate, both sides seemed reluctant to suggest a solution.

Finally, Hermione said quietly, "I think it would be best if there were at least one Wizard or Witch in each room, in case something happens."

As usual, Hermione's logic was impeccable, although neither group was entirely happy about it. After all, this arrangement would separate the two groups of friends from one another. However, there was no complaint from either side as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sorted out each person's belongings and levitated the bangs and trunks into the appropriate rooms.

After a hasty good night, they went to their rooms and divided up the beds. However, exhausted as they were, sleep came easily to none of them, and the air in both rooms was occasionally filled with stilted and uncomfortable conversations.


	6. Start as You Mean to Go On

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, socks, owls, and invisibility cloaks are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "A Rush of Blood to the Head" by Coldplay.

**Chapter 6: Start as You Mean to Go On**

It seemed to Harry that he had only just nodded off when sunlight started streaming in through the window, covering his entire bed and waking him. He sat up and reached for his glasses, gazing around at the blurry world before he put them on. When his surroundings slid into focus, he discovered that Ron was only beginning to stir, but Michael was already awake and dressed, quietly practicing the wand movements he had learned the day before.

"Do you ever sleep?" Harry asked, looking at Michael in amazement, noting that he at least had the decency to look a little tired.

"Course I do," Michael replied, "I'm human, but I've never been much for sleeping all morning."

"They usually have coffee at breakfast," Harry informed him, "if you're interested."

"Sounds good," Michael said. "I'll go make sure Sydney and Hermione are awake."

"Right," Harry said as Michael left. "Hey Ron, its morning."

Ron only muttered indistinctly and threw a pillow in Harry's general direction, so Harry said, "Alright, I'll just have to tell the house elves that you don't want any of their breakfast. They'll be so disappointed."

Ron was immediately wide awake and exclaiming, "Not if I can help it!"

In the end, Ron was ready before Harry, mostly due to that adrenaline rush. He charged into the hallway to wait with Michael while Harry was still half-heartedly attempting to straighten his tousled hair. By the time Harry stepped into the hall a minute later, he decided that he might as well have not wasted the time, as he couldn't see any difference in his appearance despite his efforts.

When Harry stepped into the common room, he found Ron and Michael discussing Wizarding card games in the corner, and Sydney and Hermione sitting in chairs on opposite sides of the room, deliberately looked anywhere but at each other. As the group left for the Great Hall, Harry called Hermione aside and asked, "Did you and Sydney have a fight or something?"

"No," Hermione said adamantly.

"Well, what then?" Harry demanded. "I saw you before, something was wrong."

"We just couldn't find something to talk about," Hermione said. "I mean, she spent half the night experimenting with ways to strap on her gun so she could get at it while she was wearing robes. How am I supposed to start a conversation with someone who does that?"

"What was wrong with the pockets?" Harry asked, confused.

"I don't know!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Well, we need to stay on good terms with them," Harry reminded her.

"I know, you don't need to lecture me," Hermione muttered.

Luckily, when they arrived at the Great Hall McGonagall was already there enjoying a bowl of porridge, so they had the opportunity to explain the previous night's idea about using an internship program as their cover story and she agreed to help however she could.

As it transpired, breakfast that morning was something of an event, mostly at Sydney and Michael's expense, although Harry didn't enjoy himself much either because he had to spend so much time politely shooing away the people who came up to talk to him that he barely had time to eat his toast.

Since they'd met, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been very impressed with the way that Sydney and Michael managed to mask their unfamiliarity with the magical world. However, the Muggles found themselves completely unable to hide their surprise when a hundred owls streamed in through the high windows of the Great Hall midway though the meal. Sydney stifled a gasp and protectively covered her cup of coffee with her hand while Harry and Ron simultaneously snorted over their breakfasts.

When she noticed that no one else in the room seemed to think that the sudden appearance of the owls was strange in any way, Sydney leaned over to Hermione and hissed, "I suppose that happens often."

"Every morning at breakfast," Hermione confirmed. "They deliver the mail."

"And it didn't occur to you to warn us?" Sydney pressed, grabbing an orange out of a nearby fruit bowl and forcing her finger underneath the rind to peel it.

"Oh," Hermione stammered. "Sorry about that. I guess we're just so used to it that we forgot it would be unusual for you." She grabbed the orange out of Sydney's hand and tapped it with her wand. The peel immediately fell away and she handed it back without a word on the subject.

"Well, wasn't it surprising for you the first time?" Sydney demanded.

"Sure it was," Hermione replied with a shrug. "But that was a long time ago. I'm sorry, but we're not used to having to explain everything."

Sydney bristled at this, but merely said grumpily, "Try not to let it happen again." A moment later she realized that she'd been gripping the orange to tightly and the liberated juice was running all over her hand.

"Maybe we should go see about those Muggle repelling charms," Michael muttered.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shrugged in agreement and grabbed a few last bites of their breakfasts before standing up and escorting the Muggles to Flitwick's classroom.

When they reached the room, Hermione knocked and poked her head inside. The diminutive Professor was just barely visible behind his desk.

"Ah! Professor Granger!" Flitwick said with a wink. "Come in, come in! Come to have a look at my lesson plans? You never were one to procrastinate!"

"Well, yes, thank you, Professor," Hermione replied, stepping inside. Everyone else followed her in. "That's not all, though. Professor McGonagall said she'd let you know about our Muggle repelling charm problem."

"Yes, yes, a most intriguing conundrum," Flitwick said, while levitating his book of lesson plans from a bookshelf to Hermione. "I must admit that at first I was at a loss. Muggle repelling charms are immensely complex- they identify who is a Muggle, then force them to perceive something that isn't there. Attempting to counter all of the results would be far too difficult, so it occurred to me that Miss Bristow and Mr. Vaughn could be made to seem magical to the charms, therefore rendering them ineffective. It is by no means an easy charm to perform, but still possible."

Sydney and Michael stepped forward and Flitwick performed the charms while Hermione watched with rapt attention.

"Will it wear off?" Hermione asked.

"It shouldn't," Flitwick replied, "but I can teach it to you, since we are to be spending time together."

"Thank you," Hermione said eagerly.

"However, that will have to wait for another time," Flitwick replied. "Class is about to start."

The most punctual students were beginning to step into Flitwick's room, Ginny Weasley among them. Although Ginny was an excellent student, she was never one of the people who arrived in class five minutes before it began, leading Harry, Ron, and Hermione to suspect that Ginny had already heard rumors of their presence. By now such gossip could have circulated most of the school, but that was to be expected. More disturbing was the fact that these rumors had pinned them down to Flitwick's classroom even though they'd only been there for a few minutes. Ginny didn't say anything to them; she merely smiled at the wizards and eyed Sydney and Michael with some confusion.

--------------------

­­­­­­­­­­

Annoyingly, maintaining their cover story took precedence over finding the Death Eaters for the next week, so Harry and Hermione had to split their time between teaching a few scattered classes and instructing Sydney and Michael in the finer points of Muggle Studies and History of Magic, or, in Harry's case, trying to. That was why he was to be found one day heaving a sigh of relief and sitting down at the head of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, burying his head in his arms as the last student finally left, pulling the door shut behind her.

Only an hour ago he'd thought that there could be nothing more exasperating than teaching giddy first years, but the third years, nearly as over excitable as the first years and with the advantage of having already met Harry, or at least seen him, had proven him wrong. He'd hardly even had a chance to introduce himself before they started recounting all they knew of Harry's role in the defeat of Voldemort, and when he declined to fill in the details for them they started making up their own. Even Harry's reminder that they had an important test approaching wasn't enough to make them focus.

Now, however, Harry had seventh years, something to look forward to, or at least he thought it would be, until he heard the door open and looked up to see Colin Creevey standing there, looking positively ecstatic to see his idol sitting at the teacher's desk. Harry forced himself not to cringe. One might have thought that seven years at Hogwarts would have relieved Colin of some of his breathless enthusiasm, but that wasn't the case.

Colin still hadn't moved nor had his awestruck expression changed by the time the next group of students arrived. It occurred to Harry that this might not be so bad after all, since this bunch was looking more like the DA with every passing second. As he was pondering this, Luna Lovegood wandered in, surrounded by a rather annoyed looking group of Slytherins who seemed caught between the impulses to continue on as though their ranks hadn't been invaded, or scatter and regroup away from her. Harry shot them a look, fairly certain that this was the last time he'd do so because of their attitude towards Luna rather than inter house rivalries.

However, Harry didn't have any idea how deep his problems went until a minute later when Ginny walked in, chatting animatedly with a few friends. It was fortunate that Harry was sitting down, for he was fairly certain that he wouldn't have stayed standing for very long after all the blood rushed to his feet. Ginny, however, wasn't so lucky. As soon as she caught sight of him she stopped dead in the middle of the room, wearing a similar expression to the one she'd acquired the morning she'd walked in on Harry after his shower. One of her friends had to guide her to her chair.

Nearly thirty seconds passed before Harry realized that the students were staring at him and a full minute elapsed before he remembered why. He stood up shakily and nearly tripped over his chair as he moved away from the desk.

"For those of you who don't know me, I'm Ha- Professor Potter." Harry winced. He'd hoped that he might get that right at least once.

His statement elicited a similar reaction in the seventh years as in the rest of the students he'd taught that day: a chorus of eye rolls. Apparently, they thought being the most famous wizard in all of England meant that Harry wouldn't have to introduce himself.

"I'll be filling in for Professor Caden for the next few days," Harry continued. "His notes say you're to continue practicing combining spells with direction charms, is that correct?"

The students nodded and started eying partners and corners to practice in, albeit rather reluctantly.

"Have any of you managed it yet?" Harry asked.

The nods were replaced by downcast shaking heads. Everyone seemed annoyed that they hadn't mastered the trick. Ginny, however, raised her hand.

"Yes Gi… Miss Wea… Ginny?" If it were an option, Harry would have charmed a hole in the floor and buried himself in it.

"Could you explain how combining spells is useful?" Ginny asked.

"Alright," Harry replied, but he wished he could take it back when he saw several former members of the DA perk up. He'd missed the stealthy similarity to a question about the Expelliarmus spell he'd been asked at the first meeting of the DA, but apparently they had not.

Harry shot Ginny a look which he hoped she would understand as a request for her not to do that again and to ask him at some other time if she wanted to know something.

Ginny glared right back and there was no misinterpreting what she meant. 'I've tried asking you, now you won't be able to get out of it.'

'Watch me,' Harry shot back, then he noticed that the looks of anticipation in the other students were quickly melting into confusion.

"Right," Harry said aloud. "Combination spells can be very useful in duels and fights. Imagine your opponent is around a corner, you could jinx him without ever exposing yourself to a counter attack. Or maybe you're in a duel. Someone would probably disregard a spell that was headed the wrong way, so if it was designed to change direction it would give them less time to react or catch them completely off guard."

"What if your opponent knows how to combine spells too?" Colin asked.

"Then you'll have to be especially on your guard," Harry replied. "But that's unlikely for the time being. They were only discovered within the last year or so. You're actually the first class to learn them. I suppose you've noticed they're not in your textbook."

Most of the students nodded their agreement, but a few of them were starting to look suspicious again. Ginny especially had a very strange fire in her eyes.

"So this wasn't on the test last year?" someone asked.

"No it wasn't," Harry replied, chancing another look at Ginny, the desire to charm a hole in the floor returning.

"Could you show us what it looks like?" Ginny blurted out suddenly.

"Hasn't Professor Caden?" Harry asked apprehensively, unable to help himself.

"No, he hasn't," Zacharias Smith spat. Even the slowest students looked suspicious now.

"I suppose I could try," Harry mumbled, lifting his wand uncertainly. "But you should know I haven't had any…er…much practice."

The students sat up expectantly as Harry performed two spells in rapid succession. The second caught up to the first in mid air and the combination shot off to the right and shattered a vase sitting on the windowsill.

Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever seen so much excitement as he did when the group turned back to him. Many started talking eagerly and some even raised their wands to try it themselves. Ginny however said, "Ha- Professor Potter?"

Harry nodded while giving her another look. 'Gotcha.'

"How do you know the spell will hit your target?" she continued, ignoring the jab.

"Concentration and luck," Harry admitted with a shrug as he repaired the vase. "Are there any other questions?"

There weren't, so Harry allowed them to practice among themselves while he wandered among the groups, correcting them when he could. He managed to stop an overenthusiastic Colin before he could do any serious damage by ricocheting an explosive jinx, then had to reprimand a smug looking Slytherin who seemed to be rather adept at combing spells until he noticed that she'd been aiming at a small mirror.

All of them seemed to have much better luck with the spell now that they'd actually seen it performed. Ginny had managed it a few times but as Harry passed by he suggested that she'd have better luck if she cast the two spells closer together. She thanked him somewhat grudgingly, but as Harry turned toward another group of students he was hit from behind by a pinching spell. Harry whirled back around and discovered Ginny facing off to his right but with an obvious smirk on her face. Any other teacher might have given her detention for such an act, but it was all Harry could do to look busy enough to justify keeping his back turned to the class until he finally stopped blushing while simultaneously not giving Ginny another tempting target.

-------------------

Scarcely an hour went by when Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sydney, or Michael wasn't in the library, a point Madame Pince found exceedingly troublesome. Since they were technically teachers, she couldn't force them to leave, but she insisted upon being present whenever someone was within ten feet of her precious books and therefore didn't get much sleep for nearly a week.

No one spent more time in the library than Sydney and Michael, who seemed to have a distinct affinity for the place. It was a trait they shared with Hermione, but apparently the three of them only ever crossed paths when Hermione's knowledge on the subject of Muggle Studies or History of Magic was required. Sydney and Michael could often be found perusing random assortments of books, apparently with no specific subject of interest in mind.

For their part, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were only too happy to let this tendency continue. They knew that they would have to get down to sorting this Death Eater problem soon, but as long as Sydney and Michael remained satisfied with what the library had to offer, the wizards were spared the trouble of having to figure out how to converse with them on a regular basis, which remained very much a hit and miss sort of business. Sydney's moods were notoriously difficult to fathom, even Michael seemed thrown by them on occasion. However, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione got to know their companions' mannerisms, they came to realize that she was equally likely to come off of a conversation satisfied or furious, but never gave any indication of the origin of either disposition.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not surprised when they wandered into the library early one morning and discovered the Muggles hunched over three books each at a table in the back corner. However, some observation indicated that they weren't actually paying much attention to anything in front of them, in favor of keeping a careful eye on a group of tired looking sixth years who were scattered around the bookshelves, muttering mutinously about a charms exam while throwing dirty looks in Hermione's direction and flicking hurriedly though books like _Advanced Charms for the Layman_ and _The Complete Encyclopedia of Every Spell Known to Wizard Kind_. Hermione kept her eyes locked on the floor until they left.

"What'd you do to them?" Ron demanded indignantly as soon as the last stragglers departed reluctantly for class.

"Nothing, really," Hermione mumbled, still staring fixedly at the floor.

"Some of them looked like they haven't slept in days!" Ron exclaimed.

"I just noticed that a lot of them seemed to have forgotten some of the simpler spells," Hermione explained.

"Then what were they doing in _Astounding Parlor Tricks for the Time Challenged_?" Ron asked, examining a book that hadn't been reshelved properly.

"I may have hinted that there would be some N.E.W.T. level spells in the exam," Hermione admitted.

"You're giving them a review exam with spells they haven't even learned yet!" Ron exclaimed, earning himself a "shush!" from Madam Pince. He dropped his voice and continued. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that the sixth year is supposed to be a bit of a break?"

"It's for their own good," Hermione sighed. "And I didn't do anything without the approval of Professor Flitwick."

"You wrote the test, didn't you?" Ron asked.

"So what if I did," Hermione replied huffily. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Ron sighed as he pulled two books off the shelves, one on broomstick theory and another on Muggle Studies then, after a brief and obvious mental struggle, sat down next to Sydney. "Do you have any questions?"

"Not at the moment," Sydney replied. It might have been lack of sleep, but she sounded even more angry than usual. Ron shrugged and flipped open the book on broomsticks as Harry and Hermione exchanged looks and took the two remaining chairs at the table.

Lunch was marked by the appearance of a group of fourth years, this time tossing the occasional dirty glance in Harry's direction. Apparently, Hermione wasn't the only one who assigned tests.

Eventually, Harry and Ron took it upon themselves to help Sydney learn Muggle Studies whenever Hermione was busy instructing Michael in Arithmancy, but often found that they weren't much use. After all, Sydney already knew much more than they ever would about Muggles, and they'd exhausted their ability to describe the exact differences between Wizard and Muggle kind within a few hours of starting. Ron's own subject, flying, didn't require much study, but he felt that he ought to be doing something useful, so he started creating a chart comparing Muggle technology to similar magical devices.

Ron hadn't done anywhere near this amount of writing all summer, so as the day progressed, his arm became more and more fatigued until eventually he got such a bad case of writer's cramp that he thought he might never be able to release his quill. Forcing the feather free, he tried to work out the kinks in his hand, but only managed to succeed in making his shoulder hurt as well. Sighing, he tried moving the offending joint, but it didn't seem to help. His writing skills thus incapacitated, Ron glanced around at the others, wondering what he was going to do. They were all pressing on with their various tasks, all apparently oblivious to his dilemma. With a shrug, Ron awkwardly placed the quill in his left hand, dipped it in his inkwell, and set it to paper, tongue sticking out in concentration.

Ron's handwriting was messy in the first place and had gotten progressively worse throughout the day, but now it was downright illegible and only exasperated by the fact that he kept putting his hand in what he'd just written and smearing the wet ink. He tried to clean the mess with his wand, but only succeeded in sending the sensation of hot sparks up his arm.

Betrayed by his own body, Ron was in the process of resigning himself to the fact that he might not be able to carry on when Michael held out a mechanical pencil. Apparently not everyone was unaware of him. They had agreed not to use Muggle writing devices, since Madame Pince often hovered over them. Even though they trusted her as much as Dumbledore had, they doubted very much that she would be able to keep the sight of a pen or pencil to herself. On the other hand, Michael, left handed himself, often encountered a similar problem with smearing his ink, and he gave a longing look toward his bag, where he kept a number of pencils out of force of habit.

Ron took the device, looking slightly dubious, although thankful, and awkwardly began to trace out a word with his left hand. However, the pencil left no mark on the parchment. Familiar with invisible ink, although unsure of its use here, Ron made to press on until Michael grabbed the pencil back and pressed down on the end of it a few times before once again handing it over. The mark it left on the parchment now was much more faint than that left by ink and Ron wondered whether anyone would be able to make it out later, especially since his handwriting still resembled ancient runes more than anything else, but at least he would have something to show for his work.

After spending several minutes contemplating the heading "Transportation" on his chart, Ron scribbled down "Apparation," "floo powder," "portkeys," and "broomsticks," then began flipping through his book for Muggle equivalents. He had just decided that the closest match to a broomstick was a bicycle when he realized something.

"Oh."

"What?" a few people asked dismissively.

"I might know a way to tell if Sydney and Michel can use magical transportation," Ron replied, slightly breathless with the wonder of his own insight.

"How's that?" Sydney asked. She, at least, sounded intrigued.

"We see if you can ride brooms," Ron replied.

"Oh," Hermione breathed.

------------------

The group had been so busy in the library that they hadn't left Hogwarts since arriving there, so once they were outside, Sydney and Vaughn got their first view of the grounds and castle as they were meant to be seen. They were so awestruck that it took a moment for the wizards to get them back on the path to the broom locker. Sydney, Michael, and Hermione found brooms then made for the Quidditch pitch, where Harry judged they would be alone and relatively invisible, until they were forced to clear off and make way for someone's Quidditch practice.

Once they reached the pitch Ron took over, imitating their own first flying lesson. He instructed them in how to cause their brooms to leap into their hands from the ground then let them try it. However, no matter what they did, the brooms stubbornly refused to budge. The wizards found this greatly troubling since they knew from experience that this exercise tended to indicate a person's general ability to fly.

Eventually, Ron called a halt to the futile exercise, opting for a different approach.

"Why don't you lot just skip the levitating part and get straight to flying," he suggested.

Fortunately, once the brooms were lifted to the correct height they seemed inclined to stay there, so Ron explained how to properly hold and use the broom while Harry demonstrated. For the first time ever Harry felt a little silly while on his broomstick, standing there teaching two adults who no doubt thought that these brooms would be put to better use sweeping the floor.

Ron invited them to try hovering, but looked skeptical. After chancing dubious looks at each other, Sydney and Michael both jumped as Harry had shown them, no doubt expecting to return to solid ground a moment later. It was difficult to determine who was more surprised when, a moment later, they were soaring higher than any tree. Harry and Ron shot up after them, having noticed far too late that Ron had neglected to instruct them on how to coax the brooms back to solid ground. However, as soon as the wizards had matched altitude with the Muggles, another, far greater problem became readily apparent: Sydney and Michael seemed utterly unable to keep their balance. As they watched, Sydney attempted to counterbalance her side-slipping broom by leaning to the right but overcompensated and rolled underneath the handle. Harry and Ron were underneath her in a flash, prepared to catch her if she fell, but instead she clung doggedly to the broom, which still persisted in careening wildly at her slightest touch.

"Sydney, can you climb back on?" Harry called up to her.

Sydney tried but it was no use; all her attempts only loosened her grip on the broomstick.

"Ron, get Michael down then get back up here as fast as you can," Harry commanded, moving so he was right next to Sydney. The Muggle had her arms and legs wrapped tight around the broom.

"We wouldn't have asked you to do this if we knew you were afraid of heights," Harry said apologetically as he considered her situation.

"I'm not afraid of heights, I just have a problem with hanging fifty feet in the air off a broomstick I can't control," Sydney muttered. "So why don't you just tell me how to get down from here."

"I'm afraid to try and transfer you to my broom since yours tends to move whenever you do," Harry sighed. "I think the best option is to have you fly down the normal way."

"I don't see anything normal about this," Sydney protested.

"Just do what I say and you'll be fine," Harry coaxed, rolling to the underside of his broom as well so that he was in roughly the same position as Sydney. "Try shifting your weight to your upper body to point the broom towards the ground."

Sydney did as Harry suggested and was pleasantly surprised to find herself approaching the ground, although a little less happy with her high speed. After some adjustments and a few minutes, her back gently touched the grass. She let go of the broom but didn't stand up, instead choosing to spend a moment celebrating her near miss.

No sooner was Sydney back on the ground than Hermione was off, attempting to explain what had happened. "It must have been the contact with the broom that allowed them to use it. Like the Muggle repelling charms, when Sydney and Michael touched us, they could see almost everything like we do."

"What about their balance?" Harry asked. "I've never seen anyone have that much of a problem with it before."

"They must not have complete control over the broom," Hermione said.

"But will it work?" Sydney asked, sitting up unsteadily.

"It should, but you'll probably always be kind of clumsy," Hermione replied. "I'm sorry to say you'll never be Quidditch player material."

"What about the floo network?" Harry prompted.

"Well, you got a little lost your first time, right?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," Harry muttered. He generally tried to avoid bringing up the experience. "I didn't speak clearly enough."

"All the same," Hermione continued, "I think we'd better not try it unless we have to, they might get really lost."

"Or burned to a crisp," Ron finished for her.

"I don't know about portkeys, either," Hermione said. "They're easy transportation for those who can't apparate, but I don't know if Muggles would stick to it. We'd have a hard time of testing it too since the Ministry has such a stranglehold on them."

Michael suggested that they focus on flying for the present and Sydney reluctantly agreed, so they went back to hovering. When Sydney and Michael learned to keep their balance and altitude more or less under control, Ron and Harry took them up a little higher to practice turning and other airborne maneuvers. Hermione chose to stay near the ground and act as a spotter in case either of them slipped and fell.

They got in a couple of hours of practice before Hermione called them back to the ground, indicating a group of students arriving to start their Quidditch practice. Even from across the pitch the mass of green robes was unmistakable.

"Ah, Slytherins," Ron groaned, invoking the old school rivalry even though the students seemed to neither notice nor care that they weren't alone on the pitch.

Ordinarily, Harry would have felt inclined to agree with him, but at the moment he was staring at the group, deep in thought. "Quidditch," he muttered to himself.

"Yeah, I know," Ron replied huffily. "Stinks that we can't play anymore. If we could, right now I'd be looking forward to mopping up the pitch with their sorry-"

"No, that's not it," Harry said. "Draco Malfoy's playing professionally now, isn't he?"

"Seeker for the Wasps, according to the _Daily Prophet_," Ron sneered. "I wonder how much he paid to get there, the scumbag."

"It can't be more than he paid to stay out of Azkaban," Harry pointed out. "But wouldn't it stand to reason that Mr. Malfoy would come and see Draco play now that he's escaped from Azkaban again?"

"What, with the whole Ministry out looking for him, just show up at a Quidditch match?" Hermione pointed out.

"Couldn't he be disguised?" Sydney suggested. "You must have some good ones."

"Sure," Hermione replied. "This leaves us with the problem of finding him, assuming he's there, of course."

"We can figure something out," Harry assured them. "After all, even if we can't find Lucius, Draco won't be hard to spot. This might be our best lead on Malfoy and the Death Eaters."

It didn't take them long to decide that the Polyjuice Potion would be Malfoy's best choice for going undetected, but as far as Harry, Ron, and Hermione could see that left them back at square one.

"The Polyjuice Potion allows its drinker to look exactly like another person," Hermione explained. "It's impossible to tell the difference."

"There's no way at all?" Sydney asked.

"Well, even if there were," Hermione said, "it wouldn't be very obvious. We can't search through thousands of fans at a Quidditch match."

"Maybe we don't have to," Harry said, beginning to pace back and forth. "He may look different, but he's still Lucius Malfoy, complete with the huge ego and pocketbook."

"So?" Ron asked.

"So, he shouldn't know the Ministry's sent people looking for him yet. He probably still thinks that just the Polyjuice Potion will be enough to conceal him, leaving him free to take a seat in a top box without anyone thinking anything of it. Not to mention he's likely to have a couple of bodyguards around. So we go to the match, track him down, and make it so we can follow him later," Harry said, pacing excitedly. "Hermione, I imagine you know a couple spells that can do that."

"If I don't, then Flitwick will, but I think I might have a better idea," Hermione replied hesitantly. "Even if Malfoy isn't expecting someone to be looking for him right now, he's bound to have precautions against Wizards tracking him. Muggles must have ways of following people as well; I think we should use one of their devices."

"Alright," Harry said with a shrug. "What do you have?"

"There are two ways we usually use," Michael explained. "The first is to plant an electronic bug on the target that transmits a signal to a satellite, allowing us to follow them."

"No good," Hermione interrupted. "If he goes anywhere that's really magical like Hogwarts the device would stop working and we'd lose the signal."

"The other way is to inject him with a radioactive substance. A satellite will follow the source of the radioactive decay."

"How do we know that won't have the same problem?" Ron asked.

"I suppose we don't," Hermione admitted.

"There's one way to find out," Harry replied.

"We're going to need a plan B," Sydney pointed out. "Just in case Malfoy isn't as predictable as you think he is."

"I think I've got one," Ron said, stopping suddenly and staring at the Firebolt in Harry's hand.

"Oh no," Harry said, aghast, "no way."

The debate continued through dinner and on to the trip up to the dormitories.

"Oh, come on, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "You know the only way this is going to work is if you're up in the air."

"Are you the Harry who spent the entire summer on a broomstick or not?" Ron demanded, "the one who looked so sorry when I pointed out that we were about to play our last game of Quidditch two weeks ago?"

"Yes, but, think about what you're asking me to do," Harry replied. "I'm supposed to figure out where Lucius Malfoy is, and the only way I have of finding that out is by following where Draco looks, mind you, then signal you lot where Lucius is, all while keeping Draco off the snitch until you do whatever you're going to do, then catch the snitch so I don't get run out of town."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Ron said.

"It sounds insane!" Harry exclaimed. "I can hardly say it all, much less do it."

"Do you want to take down Malfoy or not?" Hermione asked.

Harry was about to settle into a momentary mental debate, but at that moment Ron suddenly clutched at his right arm and doubled over in pain. The episode ended quickly and Harry helped a pale and shaky Ron to his feet. Sydney and Michael stared at Ron, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern and Hermione gave Ron a look of understanding and sympathy then shot a meaningful look at Harry, but he didn't need it. Harry's face had already hardened into the mold of resentful determination he usually reserved for Professor Snape or Voldemort.

"Alright, I'll do it," Harry replied, and everyone, even Ron, looked relieved. "You know Malfoy's going to suspect something when I show up on the opposing team just in time for a game."

"Well, if you've got any better ideas," Hermione replied.

Three weeks before the game in question, Harry attended an open try out for the seeker position of the Kenmare Kestrels. The next day he received a letter from the team accepting him as a seeker, informing him of team practices, and asking that he fill in for their regular seeker in their next game so he could have more time to recover from an injury. Ron was barely able to contain his jealousy, and while Hermione maintained that she hadn't resorted to anything illegal or sinister to get him the position, but Harry wasn't convinced that she hadn't used one of the rather juicy tidbits they'd gathered over the years to blackmail Mr. Bagman.


	7. Monsters Call Out

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, fruit snacks, party plates, and pointy hats are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Ballrooms of Mars" by T.Rex.

**Chapter 7: Monsters Call Out**

The History of Magic classroom had a teacher's desk, but no chair, so Michael was leaning into a corner at the front of the room, glancing over his book one last time when his students began to arrive. He looked up and smiled at them as they took their seats, but they didn't seem to notice, too much of their attention was devoted to the door, the window, their watches, and a violent game of hangman that Michael could just barely make out on a scrap of parchment across the room. When everyone had arrived, the students began to direct their dull expressions to the front of the room, so Michael stepped forward, placed his book on the teacher's desk, and cleared his throat.

"My name is Professor Vaughn. Professor Binns decided to take the day off."

Slowly, the surprised students leaned out from behind each other's heads to get a better look at him. A few had gone slack jawed.

"I'm currently training to become a History of Magic teacher," Michael elaborated, "so I volunteered to cover for him tod-yah!"

There was a sudden hiss of whispers from the students as Professor Binns slid through the blackboard in his usual manner and came to rest right where Michael was standing. Michael jumped clear, shivering and watched, amazed, as Binns began reading drearily from a transparent stack of notes, completely oblivious to all around him.

Michael sighed. This wasn't going anything like he'd planned. He'd heard Binns' story, but if he'd known that the ghost was such a hopeless creature of habit he might not have insisted on teaching his classes, ever. As Michael watched, a few of the students gave him one last hopeful look, and then returned their attention to Professor Binns, expressions of resigned stupor hovering on their faces.

He cleared his throat pointedly, distracting Professor Binns from his notes. The students who weren't too far gone looked up at him.

"I'm sorry, Professor Binns, but I was under the impression that you were taking the day off," Michael tried.

"Were you?" Binns wheezed. More students were forcing themselves to wake up and watch the discussion.

"Yes," Michael replied. "That's why Headmistress McGonagall asked me here. She said she'd discuss it with you."

"She did," Binns confirmed after a pause.

"Well, I understand if you wish to continue teaching today," Michael said, quailing slightly under the glares he was getting from the students for suggesting that he'd back down so easily. "But, maybe, since I'm already here, you'd like to take the day off anyway."

Professor Binns seemed to battle with himself for a moment, then he said, "Very well." Without another word he disappeared back through the blackboard.

"Alright," Michael said, as he stepped back over to the desk under the excited gaze of the students. "Today I'd like to talk to you about the development of Quidditch as a popular sport. Can anyone tell me the name and origin of the game that eventually became Quidditch?"

---------------

Since Michael had been called upon to teach his first History of Magic lesson and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were off doing whatever they do, Sydney spent the morning alone in the library. The Wizards seemed satisfied to put off working on a plan for the Death Eaters for as long as possible, but Sydney wanted to get it over with so she could get on with her life and, most of all, back to a place where things make sense, most things, at least. Thus, she'd been forgoing her pointless research in Muggle Studies in favor of searching for leads on the Death Eaters, a more important, if frustratingly futile, endeavor.

Sydney sighed and returned her attention to a book she'd found on Voldemort. It failed to elaborate on several points she thought were important and was infuriatingly out of date, but still contained more information than most other resources she'd found. By far, the book's most annoying attribute was the way that the author insisted on calling Voldemort anything other than his real name. She'd observed it a few times in the people around her, and had come to the conclusion that most Wizards were afraid to say his name, something she couldn't figure out. In her experience, it was generally helpful to be able to discuss something by name if they were trying to come up with a plan about it.

Scolding herself, Sydney once again forced her attention back to the book, but jumped up in alarm when her eyes fell on the passage she'd been reading, which was now covered by the strangest looking insect she'd ever seen. If she had to give it a label, she'd call it a spider, but that wouldn't capture the absurdity of the sight in front of her. The insect couldn't have been much larger than her palm, but it seemed to have gotten the idea that it was much larger, because it was glaring at her while standing on its back five legs and waving is front two legs at her threateningly, as though daring her to go ahead and try to read on. Sydney bent closer to inspect it and discovered that it was covered in acid orange stripes and its path across her book was marked by small punctures caused by the sharp claws at the tip of each leg. Now that she'd gotten over the initial shock, Sydney couldn't help but smile at the insect's audacity. Picking up a quill, she brushed the spider away, picked up the book, and left.

Sydney didn't have a destination in mind, but she'd proven incapable of concentrating and knew she needed a quiet place where she could sort her thoughts out before she'd accomplish anything. Dismissing the possibility of the substitute teachers' common room because it was the most likely location of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Sydney wandered down seven flights of stairs until she finally happened upon an empty classroom. However, the moment she stepped inside it became immediately obvious that she would not be able to meditate in there, not that she minded in the least. Sometime after it had been retired as a classroom, the space had become a storage closet for all kinds of strange devices. This was how she preferred to learn, to be presented with something new and have the chance to play with it until she figured out what it did.

She wound her way about the room, inspecting the knickknacks as she passed them. Some lit up or spit out puffs of smoke at her approach and others ignored her completely, although whether this was due to design or distaste toward Muggles was unclear. One particularly obliging trinket, a strange, clocklike device, started ticking merrily when she got close. She picked it up, hoping a closer look would reveal its purpose, but hadn't made any progress before she became aware of a faint tapping at the windowpane.

Before another second had passed, Sydney had replaced the clock and hidden herself under the nearest desk, a paranoid move, perhaps, but she was fairly certain that she wasn't really supposed to come in that classroom uninvited, based on its contents. However, after a moment's tense waiting, she realized it was no human hand that had come knocking, but a tree branch, set in motion by a gust of wind. As she listened to the taps the corresponding letters sprang unbidden to her mind, as they did with every series of clicks since she'd learned Morse code: R S Y B T A A R P N E A S B T A R S Y.

Sydney suddenly found cause to pay more attention now that the sequence seemed to be repeating itself. She tried to tell herself that it couldn't be, that such a thing was impossible, but the realm of possibility was so much larger inside Hogwarts that she decided it would be foolish to ignore it. She located a piece of parchment and a pen, and a few moments later, she had confirmed her suspicion about the sequence. The letters were still jumbled, but if they did contain a message, as she suspected, it wouldn't stay hidden for long.

As it transpired, it was one of the easiest codes Sydney had ever cracked, the letters of the word 'tapestry' alternated with those of the word 'Barnabas.' So why would a tree, or rather, whoever gave the tree that message, think a tapestry of this Barnabas was so important? And for that matter, how had a Wizard come to know Morse code?

------------------

Sydney hadn't realized just how many tapestries there were in the castle until she tried to find a specific one. She'd casually asked a happy looking Hermione if she knew of a tapestry of someone named Barnabas that day over lunch and the Witch had directed her to the seventh floor then stealthily asked how she'd heard the name. Sydney had concocted some lame excuse about reading it in a book, but it didn't take a genius to notice that Hermione didn't believe her. At that point, Sydney had vowed to keep the three Wizards out of her investigation, at least until she found out whatever she was looking for.

She'd hoped that once she found the elusive cloth the rest would be self explanatory, wishful thinking considering that she didn't even know what was so significant about this place. However, she hadn't anticipated finding nothing noteworthy at all. She tried feeling around the wall behind the tapestry for a seam, asking its occupants for information, and even tried poking the cloth with her wand, but nothing helped.

Growing frustrated, Sydney began pacing in front of the tapestry, pondering her dilemma and wondering what on Earth she was looking for. When this didn't help either, she threw herself against the nearest wall and sank to the floor. It was then that she noticed something strange.

A door had appeared in the wall across from the picture, at least she thought it had. She certainly didn't remember it being there before.

Sydney approached slowly and opened the door. She'd thought that the abandoned classroom where she'd heard the Morse code in the first place was home to many strange things, but within this room was the widest array of objects she'd ever seen: shelves upon shelve of devices, many of which defied description, but most looked potentially lethal. Sydney supposed that this room appeared whenever a passerby needed to hide something, and thus, as was her case, when they needed to find it again. Astonished, she toured the room, careful to give the piles of contraband a wide berth. Its inner proportions were immense, far bigger than its location within the castle should have allowed.

Sydney had already explored half the room before she remembered why she found this place. However, without any idea as to why the Morse code had indicated this location and with so much to find here, it seemed unlikely that she'd make any progress at all without any more clues, and none seemed forthcoming.

Disappointment seeped through her as she turned to leave, but then her eyes lit upon a small box. It was made of wood and looked exceedingly old, but somehow it didn't show any signs of decay. However, it wasn't the box that caught Sydney's attention; it was the symbol on it: a circle with two angled lines on either side, the eye of Rambaldi.

Sydney wasn't sure what to think. Rambaldi's artifacts tended to show up in unexpected places, but she'd never suspected Hogwarts would be one of them; the place was inaccessible to Muggles, after all, which begged an important question.

Sydney shook the box and found that there was something inside, but she saw no hinges or seams to indicate an opening so she pocketed the whole thing and left.

-------------

"How did teaching go today, Michael?" Hermione asked over dinner that evening.

"Alright," Michael replied, with a shrug. "The students seemed happy that Professor Binns wasn't there. He showed up at the beginning of the first class, though. I think he forgot that I was supposed to teach today."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all snorted into their plates.

"I wish I could have seen that," Harry laughed.

"Sorry," Hermione giggled, catching Michael's confused stare. "I suppose we should have thought of that. Binns can't stand any sort of deviation from his routine."

"It's alright," Michael said. "I guess it was a little funny, come to think of it." Sydney shot him a look and his smile faded slightly.

"I saw Nearly Headless Nick this afternoon," Ron added. "He said he found Binns two doors over, reading his notes to an empty room."

"Have you ever heard of a man by the name of Milo Rambaldi?" Michael asked suddenly. The Wizards' smiles faded at the abrupt change in subject and they took a moment to ponder the question. Sydney, still adamant about not letting the Wizards in on their investigation, had asked him to pursue the Rambaldi question, since it seemed more than likely that Hermione would notice the connection to the inquiry about Barnabas if Sydney did all the talking. This, at least, had an incrementally better chance of sliding by undetected. Initially, Sydney had been reluctant to ask at all, but this method had the benefit of letting them find out if the man actually was a Wizard before they went and combed the entire library for information about him.

After a moment, Harry and Ron shrugged and returned to their plates, but Hermione looked at Michael with the most piercing stare he'd ever seen.

"How do you know about him?" she asked.

"He was a fifteenth century prophet," Michael explained, trying not to meet Hermione's eyes, "chief engineer to Pope Alexander VI. He made a lot of inventions and designs that were centuries ahead of his time before he was excommunicated for heresy. Sydney's old boss, Arvin Sloane, was practically obsessed with finding his artifacts, most of which have turned out to be extremely powerful. It just occurred to me that he might have been a Wizard, and I was wondering if you'd heard of him."

Sydney tried to make it look like she had no idea this conversation was about to occur while simultaneously shooting Michael a look that told him she didn't approve of him giving so much information away so easily, but Hermione loosened up immediately and said, "He was a famous Seer, often punished for creating the things he saw in his visions and leaving them around for Muggles to find. After he was excommunicated he faked his own death in Italy and came to England. He lived another hundred years after that."

Sydney stood up so quickly that she knocked her chair over. She didn't like the sound of that at all. If it was true, then there could be a dozen more workshops and hundreds of artifacts that had escaped the church's purge of his works, and all of them could be more powerful and dangerous than any discovered before. What's more, now everyone would think that they were protected because they were hidden behind Muggle repelling charms, but if she and Michael could get through them, then so could someone as fanatical as Sloane. It was as though her worst nightmare had come true.

"Did he continue his work once he got to England?" Michael asked, sensing Sydney's realization.

"I suppose so," Hermione guessed, glancing beyond Michael to Sydney then back again. "He stayed here at Hogwarts for awhile, after that I'm not so sure."

That was all Sydney could stand to hear. She left the table abruptly, leaving her dinner virtually untouched. Her first stop was the library, where she pulled out the biggest encyclopedia she could find. The article about Rambaldi was infuriatingly brief, containing even less information than Hermione. Conspicuously absent were any books by or about Rambaldi and her frantic rampage through the history books only yielded a few tidbits, most of which weren't helpful at all. Unable to stand the fruitless search any longer, Sydney grabbed a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ off the shelf and told Madame Pince she was borrowing it.

----------------

Harry had never been the recipient of much good luck, at least not on a day to day basis. It was a fact he had learned to accept over the years, but he couldn't help but curse his terrible fortune as he wandered up the stairs, hoping he was following the same path Sydney and Michael had taken. The Wizards had been concerned about the Muggle's strange behavior throughout dinner, but after Michael had left to follow Sydney they hadn't been able to deny that something was wrong. Deciding that the situation, whatever it was, required care and tact, Hermione had suggested that only one person follow the pair, and when no one volunteered, she pulled out her wand and sent it rotating in her hand, promising that it had an equal chance of selecting any of them. Harry hadn't been convinced, and after it landed on him he'd vowed to look up the spell the first chance he got to ensure that it was sufficiently random.

For the time being, however, he had more important things to worry about, like ensuring the well being of their Muggle companions. His route was unusual, a shortcut he hadn't taken in months, and every step was dredging up more memories. Then suddenly he wasn't just remembering anymore. Harry mounted the next staircase, _carefully stepping over rubble as he descended. Ron and Hermione were close behind him. They were trying to be as quiet as possible, since they had recently given up the Marauder's Map and their information was quickly becoming out of date. It was with the greatest horror that they heard a cold, cruel voice._

"_You have betrayed me."_

_It echoed so much that they had no hope of determining where it had come from, nor did any of them have any idea who had betrayed someone else, but they slipped under the invisibility cloak and shrunk against the banister, hoping they hadn't already been seen and trying not to make any noise._

_However, their fears were ill-founded, for a moment later another voice replied, "No, Master."_

_There was something about this voice, however, that was sorely familiar._

"_That's Snape!" Harry exclaimed, ducking out from under the cloak and making to stand up and rush forward._

"_Stop!" Ron and Hermione hissed, pulling him down._

"_We can't just sit here and do nothing!" Harry said. "Snape killed Dumbledore!"_

"_Harry, at least wear your cloak," Hermione pleaded, grabbing his arm to prevent him from standing up._

"_I want him to be able to see me when I kill him," Harry replied._

"_We can't go after them both," Hermione said._

"_We can when there are three of us and two of them," Harry replied._

"_Think about it, Harry," Hermione said. "We don't know that there aren't any other Death Eaters over there."_

"_They're both much more powerful wizards than us," Ron pointed out._

"_Harry," Hermione pleaded. "If you were to go over there and fight right now, who would you duel first? And how do you plan to hold off the second one?"_

_Harry shrugged. He didn't really think such details worth considering at the moment._

"_You know what you have to do here, don't let revenge get in the way," Hermione continued._

_Harry scowled at her and yanked his arm out of her grasp, but Voldemort spoke again before he'd even made it down another step._

"_Do not think I cannot tell you are lying. It does not matter how accomplished you think you are at Occlumens, the Dark Lord always knows."_

"_I assure you, Master," Snape continued._

"_And yet you persist in feeding me lies," Voldemort said. "I know your loyalty has been to Dumbledore since before my powers broke at the hands of that Potter. I know you have been passing information to the Order of the Phoenix for the past three years while still maintaining the illusion of servility to me. But I have been feeding you lies as well. Don't look so surprised, why shouldn't I have pressed my advantage? You have been giving false information to the Order all this time. Why else would everyone assure you that we were staying in Albania if we were about to attack here?"_

_Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at each other, struggling to comprehend what they'd just heard._

_There was a pause, then the second voice said, "You will not succeed, the Order will stop you."_

"_I doubt it," Voldemort replied, "but I suppose I must wait and see. You, however, will not be given that pleasure. Your usefulness has run out, and you will now greet the same fate that meets all who betray me. Avada Kedavra!"_

_Harry, Ron, and Hermione winced as a body audibly slumped to the floor and Voldemort stalked away. After the footsteps faded, they made their way down the rest of the stairs then turned a corner to where the discussion had taken place, already suspecting what they'd see. Sure enough, black robed, sallow skinned, greasy haired Professor Snape was lying in a heap in front of them. All three were stunned. The person they had suspected more than any other of betraying Dumbledore's trust had died proclaiming his belief that Harry and the Order would prevail._

Harry blinked and shook his head. That was strange indeed. It was as though he'd slipped into a dream, or a memory, more like, but it was rather unusual to fall asleep while climbing a flight of stairs. With a shrug, he carried on, but harder to shrug off was the feeling of guilt and confusion that accompanied that particular memory. After all, he'd had the element of surprise, he could have stepped in and changed the outcome of that confrontation at any time he liked, maybe even killed Voldemort right then and prevented a great deal of bloodshed that night. Harry still couldn't pin down exactly why he'd stayed on that staircase instead. His preferred excuse was that, like Hermione said, he'd had no way of knowing if there were any other Death Eaters present, or if Voldemort would have been able to spot him before he got a clear shot, but he knew it wasn't true. That wasn't the way Harry Potter did things. Harry Potter went into danger wand raised, damning the dangers and the consequences. Apparently, he'd forgotten that somewhere along the way.

-----------------

Sydney made her way back to the lost and found room, half her attention on reading the book and the rest on where she was going, so when Michael caught up with her, it was a few steps before she noticed his presence.

"They say anything interesting after I left?" Sydney asked.

"Not really," Michael replied. "They just asked if you were okay."

"What'd you say?" Sydney pressed.

"Just repeated that bit about Sloane, told them you'd want to make sure the CIA finds any artifacts before the bad guys," Michael explained. "Where are we going?"

"To where I found this," Sydney said, pulling the box out of her pocket.

"That explains how you thought to ask about Rambaldi," Michael said after glancing at it.

By the time they'd arrived at the tapestry of Barnabas, Sydney had finished explaining about the tree tapping out Morse code and her first encounter with the strange room on the seventh floor. She felt around the wall covered by the tapestry as she'd done before, but it seemed that, as she'd expected, the trigger was in walking past the place a few times. Soon the door materialized and she burst inside, but the room within was not what she'd expected. Instead of a large room filled with piles upon piles of strange devices, this room was smaller with a padded floor and its walls lined with aids for practicing every way one person could fight another.

"You found that box in here?" Michael asked skeptically as he followed her inside.

"No," Sydney replied, astonished. "It was different, filled with things people had hidden in it."

"Maybe the room changes each time a person comes in," Michael suggested, picking up a fencing foil and twirling it skillfully.

Sydney beckoned him back into the hallway and the doorway faded back into the wall. She started pacing around again until the door reappeared and Michael opened it.

The contents were once again unexpected. Within were thousands of clear glass cups surrounding a large fountain spewing jets of different colored liquid into a pool below.

"That settles it," Michael sighed, "the room changes every time."

"It doesn't have to," Sydney replied.

"How do you know?" Michael asked.

"Because this time while I was walking I was thinking 'I'm thirsty.'"

"So it made a room full of things to drink," Michael breathed. "Then I suppose last time you were thinking about having to fight for the Rambaldi artifacts."

Sydney nodded.

"We'll figure this out, Syd," Michael assured her. "Any of Rambaldi's works that are still here will be in CIA lockdown before Sloane even finds out that they exist."

"You don't know that," Sydney replied, sensing an impending breakdown and turning away from her companion to hide it.

"We will if we keep our heads," Michael said, touching her elbow. "Worrying about what might happen won't help."

"You're right," Sydney admitted.

"So," Michael said, returning to their previous conversation. "These Wizards sure know what they're doing."

"We'll see," Sydney muttered. She closed the door once again, and this time when they reopened it, the room Sydney had been looking for waited inside. "This is where I found the box."

"I can believe that," Michael said, looking around in astonishment as they began their search for more of Rambaldi's works.

It was several hours before they finally conceded defeat. They hadn't expected the search to be easy, after all, not only were there thousands of objects in that room, but they were also reluctant to touch most of them for fear of angering one. Still, they had hoped to at least find something pointing to where the rest of Rambaldi's work could be found.

"Maybe we need to open that box you found before," Michael suggested, wiping dust and sweat off his brow and cursing himself for not thinking to suggest that sooner.

"There's something inside of it," Sydney admitted, "but I can't find a way to open it. There doesn't seem to be a lid and I didn't want to smash it in case there's something written on the inside surface.

"Here," Michael said, taking the box and pulling out a pocket knife. He selected a blade and began cutting off the side of the box with eye on it. Luckily, the wood was neither thick nor especially strong, so within a minute he'd pulled a skeleton key out of the box.

Sydney took it and held it up for study. "I don't suppose there's anything in there that says where this goes?"

"Nothing," Michael confirmed, checking the box for inscriptions, "but there can't be too many options. Wizards tend to lock things with magic."

As they walked back to their rooms, Sydney and Michael discovered that statement to be even truer than they originally thought. Not a single door they passed contained a keyhole.


	8. Everything's Made to be Broken

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, chess boards, statues, and replica wands are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

**Chapter 8: Everything's Made to be Broken**

"Before we get started, I'd like to introduce Harry Potter, he'll be filling in the Seeker position until McClintok is back on his feet."

The coach finished his speech and the team stepped forward to introduce themselves and shake Harry's hand. They sounded friendly enough but he sensed some hostility in the way that nearly every handshake practically dislocated his shoulder. The reserve Seeker even made a good attempt at breaking his hand.

Even as Harry shook out his smashed extremity he felt he understood where the Seeker was coming from. After all, his means of getting on to this team were not quite legitimate. He'd gone to a try out, of course, but he'd finally gotten Hermione to admit that it was rigged slightly in his favor by the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Several members of the team seemed convinced that Harry had bought his way on to the team, an assessment that was close enough to the truth that Harry didn't have the heart to try and dissuade it. Then there was the fact that by all rights the reserve Seeker should have been playing the starting position for the upcoming game, but Harry had simply come in and taken it, having never even played for a professional team before. Harry might have been the savior of the wizarding race, but that wasn't enough to dissuade the team loyalty of a group of professional Quidditch players.

They started out flying a few laps around the pitch then moved on to tossing the Quaffle. On the Gryffindor team, Harry had always faired well enough during this sort of warm up, but now it seemed that the Quaffle was moving much faster and he had some trouble catching it every time it came his way. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have daunted him; he improved quickly enough, after all, and his skill at handling the Quaffle was secondary to his ability to catch the Snitch, and the talents required for his position were completely different. However, whenever the Quaffle slid past his fingertips a quiet chorus of sarcastic cheers and laughs always erupted from the rest of the team.

Bludger practice followed, something at which Harry was a bit more adept. However, his fellow players soon developed the opinion that along with buying his way onto the team, Harry had bought a superior broom to ensure that he was better than the rest of them, for they all played on Nimbus 2001s.

So it continued for the rest of practice, whenever Harry made a mistake he was laughed at and whenever he excelled at something the team assumed he'd given himself an unfair advantage. It was like playing with a bunch of Slytherins.

The reserve Seeker finally got to vent the full range of his frustration when the Snitch was released. He played a vicious game, Draco Malfoy would have been proud, and it was mostly by lucky chance that Harry got the Snitch in the end. When it was over, the other Seeker gave him a look that clearly said he desired nothing more than to knock Harry off his broom then break the offending tool in half.

Harry couldn't help but heave a huge sigh of relief when practice was called to an end, and for the first time ever he was dreading the next one.

No one spoke to him in the locker room, not that he'd thought they would. Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected coming into this, but it wasn't open scorn from his teammates. In hindsight, he supposed he should have been a bit more prepared for something like this, after all, a group of highly competitive people couldn't be expected to take kindly to some kid with a famous name who decided to go and take the most important position on their team. However, understanding this didn't stop Harry from being tempted to go back to Hogwarts and beg Ron and Hermione to find another way to locate Malfoy, but Harry Potter didn't quit. Not when Voldemort repeatedly tried to kill him and not when the Kenmare Kestrels refused to believe that he could play Quidditch.

---------------------

Ron woke up long before anyone else the next morning. He couldn't quite pin down what woke him up, although he suspected a combination of the sun playing across his face and the nerves that had so stubbornly hindered his attempts to fall asleep in the first place. From the very beginning he had begged Madam Hooch not to make him teach a class. Not that flying lessons was a particularly difficult subject, especially since the students would have a handle on the basics by now, but Ron simply could not see himself as a teacher. He hadn't even made a good prefect.

In her defense, Madam Hooch had not backed out on her promise, even though McGonagall had urged her to make Ron teach. It wasn't her fault a bludger had broken free of its box while she was cleaning the broomshead and hit her so sharply on the head that she was unconscious for the better part of the weekend, despite Madam Pomfrey's best efforts. Still, Ron couldn't help but wish she had been paying a little less attention to the dust and a little more to the balls. Harry alone had shown him sympathy afterwards. In fact, they'd stayed up far later than they should have last night after Harry's practice with the Kestrels, joking and complaining about their Quidditch troubles.

Ron made a great show of moving quietly around the room so he wouldn't wake Harry and Michael and changed his pillow to the opposite side of his bed so the sun wouldn't be able to make such easy work of him, writing off the annoyed sighs of his roommates as the outward manifestations of their dreams.

Breakfast was a speedy affair; no sooner had Ron stepped into the Great Hall than his already queasy senses were accosted by the sight and sound of whatever the house elves had prepared. He only narrowly avoided becoming acutely reacquainted with last night's dinner.

Outside, he retrieved the school brooms from the shed and arranged them on the grass so that the students would have enough space to take off when the time came. When he finished he grabbed his own broom and flew once around the castle, hoping to relieve some of his nerves, but he only managed to make himself feel sick to his stomach again.

Gradually, his students began to filter out on to the grounds. Some looked excited and others disappointed: apparently they'd been hoping that Madame Hooch's injury would be cause enough to call off the class. Ron was feeling the same way.

His stomach did a back flip when the bell rang, but he gathered together as many nerves as he could and stammered, "I suppose you all know why Madame Hooch isn't here. My name is Ro- Professor Weasley." It was such a strange thing to say that he was surprised that he didn't stumble over it more. "I'll be teaching this class until she recovers."

This was going to be a long day.

---------------------

"As I'm sure you're aware, Professor Lucia is currently attending an international conference on submarines," Sydney said, addressing a class of fourth year Muggle Studies students. "My name is Professor Bristow and I'll be filling in for him over the next couple of days."

She took role, struggling not to laugh whenever her eyes feel on the display cases scattered around the room, which were filled with such random artifacts as toothbrushes and wind chimes. Sydney had an equally difficult time preventing herself from sneering whenever her eyes fell on Hermione in her seat at the back of the room. The Wizards had decided that if one of them had been present, Michael wouldn't have had nearly as much trouble with Professor Binns in his History of Magic lesson, which, somewhere along the line, progressed to the idea that Sydney couldn't teach a Muggle Studies class without someone there to help if she ran into trouble, as though she couldn't handle teaching a class about technology she'd been using her entire life.

Role completed, Sydney said, "Professor Lucia's lesson plan indicates that you have been studying Muggle cooking techniques. Mr. Kemler, will you please name four Muggle devices used for cooking."

She had been hoping to put that student of the spot ever since he walked in the room. He had been staring at her hungrily the entire time, as though he could see right through her robes, which, she was disturbed to know, might actually be the case. Now, however, she was enjoying watching him squirm. It seemed that, aside from not being entirely familiar with the information she'd requested, Kemler, like most of the class, noticed that she hadn't consulted the seating chart before calling his name. It was one of the advantages of having a photographic memory and Sydney occasionally enjoyed using it to frighten and intimidate others.

"Um…there's the…uh…stove," Kemler stammered, counting on his fingers, "oven, micrawove…"

"Microwave," Sydney corrected.

"Microwave, right," Kemler continued. "Refrigerator? No that's different…um…"

"Toaster," Sydney prompted.

"Oh," Kemler replied.

Sydney made sorting out which device cooks which way a team effort, but it still took several minutes. After that, she had them divide into pairs and disperse themselves to the several working kitchen appliances around the room, where they would attempt to cook with the recipes and ingredients waiting for them.

As they set to work, Sydney added, "Anyone who uses magic will automatically receive no credit," then smirked as she saw several people sadly sneak their wands back into their pockets.

Sydney wandered around the room answering questions as they arose, but mostly the students were able to fend for themselves, having already braved a multitude of Potions classes.

When the class came back together an hour later she had them all sample each other's dishes while they discussed their efforts. Most of the food was either over or under cooked. One confused pair even managed to make a loaf of bread that was both.

"What do you think?" Sydney asked, after they'd had some time to ponder the experience.

"It's different from potion making," one girl said insightfully. "There's no counting a specific amount of an ingredient or stirring the mixture a certain number of times."

"That's true," Sydney agreed, "there's a lot more estimation and guesswork involved in cooking. Would you say that makes it easier than potion making?"

There was a general nod of assent throughout the class.

"I suppose you all think you're adequate potion makers?"

There was some hesitation, but most people nodded again.

"So if Muggle cooking is simple compared to Potions class, then why didn't your dishes come out right?"

"This was just our first try, ma'am," one student pointed out.

"True," Sydney admitted, "but how did your first try at Potion making go? Did your Potion do what it was supposed to?"

The general consent among the class was that, while their first Potion class had gone horribly, as Snape had still been a professor at the time, their Potions did still mostly act as they were supposed to as long as they followed the directions to the letter.

Sydney picked an oddly shaped mass of dough off a tray and said, "This used to be a cookie."

She hit it hard against the edge of the teacher's desk. The cookie did not break. In fact, the impact left a small indentation in the wood.

"It's not anymore. This isn't even food anymore. I'm sure the pair that made these would like to argue that these were cookies when they took them out of the oven and that they followed the recipe carefully, and I would be inclined to believe them. However, something clearly happened here. Determining exactly what it was might be even harder than in Potions, because cooking is not an exact science. Recipes often have to be modified based on the appliance used to cook them, or the elevation at which they are made, and occasionally even the weather that day."

Most students looked like they wished she would stop comparing cooking to Potions and get on with telling them how to cook better, but Sydney had another idea.

"I've got a question for all of you. Obviously, you're all interested in Muggles or else you wouldn't be here, but I wonder if your respect for Muggles has increased since you started taking this class."

Sydney looked past the confused stares of the students and smirked when she saw Hermione flipping quickly through her copy of the course syllabus.

When no answer to her question seemed forthcoming, Sydney said, "I promise, no matter what you say, Professor Lucia won't hear about it."

Several students shook their heads and a few others nodded. The rest seemed undecided.

"Alright, why?" Sydney prompted. "If you think they're a dirty backwater society that's still living in the Dark Ages then say so, but be prepared to back it up."

"I think Muggles deserve our respect," one student chimed in finally. "I think it's brilliant what they've achieved without Magic."

"If they were enlightened enough to deserve our respect then they'd know about Magic," someone else retorted.

"They only don't know about Magic because we don't let them; it's like we're limiting their technology."

"Most Muggles have a general idea about how a lot of their most common technology works, so they can fix it if it breaks."

"Magic doesn't break- that makes is superior."

"I'd like to hear you explain how Magic works!"

"Hold it!" Sydney exclaimed. "I'm glad you're all getting into this debate, but personal attacks will not be tolerated, so please keep your arguments on a general level. Now, anyone, would you say Wizards or Muggles are the dominant species on the planet?"

"Wizards," several people answered at once, the rest nodded in agreement.

"But Muggles outnumber Wizards by over a hundred thousand to one," Sydney pointed out.

"We're more powerful," one student replied.

"Are you referring to weapons, technology, or intellect?" Sydney asked.

"All of them," he replied with a shrug.

"Let's start with weapons, then, they're probably the easiest," Sydney said, flipping through the class notes. "What is the scope of the most powerful destructive spell that you know of?

"I've heard of streets or buildings being blown up, nothing bigger than that."

Several other students seemed to agree, so Sydney said, "I see you haven't studied atomic bombs, but they are capable of destroying entire cities and rendering the area uninhabitable for years."

"We could make spells that powerful, but Wizards are mostly mixed in with Muggles. The Muggles would die too."

"Very true," Sydney agreed, "but now who's limiting whose technology."

"Oh."

"Muggles face a similar quandary, you know," Sydney said. "Enough countries possess nuclear weapons to ensure that no matter who starts a nuclear war, all the countries involved are almost guaranteed to be destroyed. A nuclear war big enough could end all life on Earth. As a result, no nuclear bomb has been dropped on enemy soil in over fifty years. So I ask you, is the more enlightened race the one that has large scale weapons but doesn't use them, or the one that had none at all?"

Several students looked like they were about to argue, but then closed their mouths.

"Shall we move on to technology, then?" Sydney felt sure that her thesis would not stand up under serious scrutiny, but, miraculously, no one objected, so she continued, "What about transportation?"

"We've got them there," a student exclaimed. "Muggles spend hours getting places, but we've got three different ways to travel instantaneously."

"That's true for short distances, but Apparating is only safe within a few hundred miles, and you have to know where you're going. It's easy to get lost using Floo powder if you don't know what you're doing, and the Ministry doesn't allow unauthorized portkeys."

"The Ministry uses Muggle cars sometime!" someone else burst out.

"An interesting point," Sydney replied. "Wizards didn't invent cars, but some still use them, despite the fact that they are inferior to magical forms of transportation."

"It's better than walking when we're in places inhabited by Muggles."

"What about space travel?" Sydney asked. "I haven't heard of any wizard ever traveling to space, have you?"

There was a resounding no.

"Muggles have sent manned missions to the moon and robotic probes to the outer reaches of the solar system," Sydney pointed out, "yet Wizards only get as close to the stars as telescopes allow."

Again the class was silenced.

"If that wasn't a tie I believe it was rather close to one," Sydney said. She paused for a moment to wait for objections. There was none, so she continued, "On to intellect then?"

It seemed that this was the topic the class had been waiting for: several students burst out at once.

"Our understanding of the universe is better."

"Magic is everywhere, but Muggles aren't smart enough to see it."

"We don't let them!"

"We have Seers who can predict the future and time turners that let us repeat the past, Muggles can't say that."

"But can Wizards say that they understand the present?" Sydney asked.

"Sure we do!"

"Muggles have spent centuries studying the forces of the universe, Wizards have spent millennia studying how to ignore them," Sydney continued, "but if you knew the forces you were manipulating when you caused an object to levitate or what chemically happens to a person when he or she drinks a potion, wouldn't your magic be more efficient?"

In truth, the students did not know. Wizards were professionals at manipulating Magic, but the exact nature of magic had always remained a great mystery. However, Sydney's point made sense.

"You do all realize that at one point Wizards were dying out," Sydney continued, hoping that Ron's lecture on the subject had been correct. "We would be extinct if we hadn't started marrying Muggles. Even now our numbers might not be sustainable. I would like you to consider the idea that Wizards and Muggles have a much more symbiotic relationship that you might have guessed. Muggles ensure the longevity of our race while we protect them from magical creatures and events against which they have no defense. We focus on the past and future while they see the present."

At that point, the bell rang to dismiss the class, so Sydney let them leave, noting with satisfaction that they were still discussing the finer points of her thesis. However, her cheery feeling evaporated when she noticed that Hermione had already ducked out. This frustrated Sydney immensely, for she had started the entire debate for Hermione's benefit, hoping she might take a hint and notice that Sydney was unsatisfied with her treatment by the three Wizards. Apparently, Hermione wasn't nearly as smart as she liked people to think.

---------------------

Hermione's timing was unfortunate, she hadn't managed to skip out of Sydney's Muggle Studies class early enough to avoid the rush of students leaving their final class, so she was in the company of a mass of students, all talking loudly, excited with finally being released from the hours of lectures. All hope of locating her quarry quickly and easily was lost as Hermione was enveloped in the mass of people. Finally, she spied Ron a few meters away, a head taller than anyone in his immediate vicinity- his red hair like a signal beacon against the other students. She forced her way over to him, a difficult task despite the limited authority that the position of substitute charms teacher lent. She managed to catch up to Ron and touched his elbow to get his attention before pulling him to the side of the hallway.

"Hi, what's up?" he asked as soon as they were clear.

He looked windswept and a little sunburned from his day out on the grounds and Hermione noticed that he was opening and closing his right hand uncomfortably, so she took it and began messaging it gently as she replied, "I'll tell you in a minute. Do you know where Harry is?"

"He shouldn't be hard to spot," Ron replied as he began combing the crowd.

"Really?" Hermione asked, "How's that?"

"You didn't see him at lunch today," Ron replied with a smirk. "He was so annoyed. I thought you said you were going to meet us there. What happened?"

"I was helping Sydney with Muggle Studies. That's what I need to talk to you about," Hermione said.

"Ah, there he is," Ron exclaimed, pointing a little ways down the hall.

Now that Hermione saw Harry she couldn't believe she'd missed him. He was like a large rock in a shallow stream, all the people around him were scrambling to get out of his way, which gave him about a meter's space on either side. Harry looked like he was trying to alternate between ignoring the problem and acting congenial enough to encourage people to stop dodging out of his path like he had some kind of disease, but she knew him enough to suspect he would rather that the ground swallowed him up than force him to continue to be the source of so much attention.

"What'd he do to deserve that?" Hermione asked.

"He punished a couple bullies during morning break," Ron replied. "It was brilliant, I'll bet they still don't know what happened to them."

"So people have been doing this to him all day?" Hermione continued.

"Yep," Ron said, laughing.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I mean, poor man!" Ron jested as Harry approached shouting range and Hermione called him over

Harry looked happy to be among people who weren't liable to drop down and grovel at his feet at random intervals and chose to ignore how much wider of a radius people were giving their group now that he'd joined it.

"So, Hermione, we're all here now, what's up" Ron prompted.

"We have to talk," Hermione replied.

"That so?" Ron said. "About anything in particular?"

"I'll tell you when we get to our common room," Hermione said.

---------------------

Sydney was too annoyed to track down Hermione and set her straight, so she found Michael instead, holed up in the library as usual, studying a large history book.

"Do you have plans?" she asked.

Michael shrugged and nodded at his book.

"Good," Sydney said, dragging him out of the library.

When they stopped in front of the wall containing the door the Room of Requirement, Michael was initially worried that Sydney was going to force him to resume their search for Rambaldi artifacts, but then the door appeared and they stepped into the room containing the aids to various kinds of combat. At that point, Michael was terrified. They were usually well matched in most kinds of fights, but considering Sydney's current mood, Michael didn't stand a chance. He wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to turn around and discover Sydney coming at him with the long sword that was sheathed in the corner.

Sydney tossed Michael as set of protective gear designed for kick boxing and they began suiting up. The room had provided clothes suitable for their endeavor, but they didn't use them since they wouldn't have a chance to change out of their robes if they ever found themselves in a real hand to hand fight.

Sydney landed the first punch, a sharp hit to Michael's chest that knocked the wind out of him. She gave him a minute to recover then came at him again, this time hitting him in the stomach. This, at least, he was ready for, and he tried to return the favor, aiming for her shoulder, but she deflected the punch easily.

Over the next few minutes, Sydney systematically pummeled Michael, allowing him only two additional chances to hit her back: the first she dodged and during the second she forced him to jump away at exactly the same moment, making his punch into more of a tap.

"What, afraid to hit me?" Sydney slurred around her mouth guard, "'cause I can take it, you know."

"It's not that," Michael replied, "you're boxing too well, I-"

"Is it because I'm a girl, then?" Sydney demanded, "because I thought we already worked that out, and I swear, if you don't start trying soon you're going to wish you had."

"Are you mad about something?" Michael asked.

Either Michael let his guard down a little too long or Sydney chose the violent answer to his stupid question: a moment later, Sydney's gloved fist connected with his jaw and he was knocked to the ground.

Sydney didn't apologize, but she did kneel down next to him.

"How was class?" Michael asked, feeling his tender jaw as well as he could with his gloved hand.

"Good," Sydney replied, spitting out her mouth guard. "The students seemed to like the lesson alright."

"What's wrong, then?" Michael pressed.

"Hermione," Sydney said. "Well, actually it's all three of them, but mostly Hermione."

"Really?" Michael asked. "They've always been really kind to me, considering."

"Considering what?" Sydney demanded.

"This is their world," Michael said, "they know it, we don't, and even in spite of that, they're still respectful towards us."

"Don't kid yourself," Sydney sneered, slipping into a passable imitation of Hermione's bookish voice. "We're really glad to have you here, Sydney, but right now the Wizards and I have something really important to discuss, so if you'll just bugger off we'll give you the abridged version later."

"When has Hermione ever told you to bugger off?" Michael asked, bemused.

"And you," Sydney retorted. "You're not helping things at all. You heard why McGonagall wanted you to teach History of Magic, it's so she could get the usual teacher used to the idea of being fired. She's taking advantage of our situation."

"Our goals aren't mutually exclusive," Michael said. "I needed a subject to teach and History of Magic is what I got. I don't have a problem with the fact that I'm also helping Professor McGonagall. Besides, between the two of us, we're getting a pretty good idea of how these Wizards work."

"I've seen how those three act around each other; they always speak slower when we're around, like we're some lower life form that they don't want to offend," Sydney continued, ignoring Michael's point. "I had a debate today in one of my Muggle Studies classes, we decided that Wizards and Muggles are symbiotic, but then Hermione left before I could discuss it with her. I tried to bring it up subtly, and she completely missed it. And, you'd think that she, out of everyone, would know how to behave around us, seeing as she's Muggle born and all."

"She also happens to be a genius," Michael pointed out. "Maybe she knows the full extent of the difficulties of transitioning to the Wizarding world and is trying to protect us from them."

"I don't want to be protected," Sydney replied.

"Well, kicking my ass across the floor isn't going to change their behavior," Michael said.

"Good point."

Sydney ripped off her gear and left abruptly. It took a moment before Michael realized that Sydney's current state of mind could spell a considerable amount of danger for the Wizards and he took off after her.

---------------------

"… and then they decided that Wizards and Muggles are symbiotic," Hermione finished.

"I'd have to agree," Ron said. Harry nodded.

"So do I, but I think Sydney was trying to make a point about her and Michael," Hermione said.

"She doesn't think we're being symbiotic as a team?" Ron asked. 'But we need them, otherwise they wouldn't be here. They just happen to need us a bit more at the momen- Oh, hi Sydney and Michael."

Sydney practically growled as she watched their confused expressions melt into pleasant smiles.

"What is your problem with us?" she demanded, dispensing with a greeting.

"We don't have a problem with you," Hermione stammered, her confused look returning.

"Don't give me that," Sydney spat impatiently. "And don't think I haven't noticed."

"Noticed what?" Harry replied a split second before Hermione stepped on his foot.

Sydney rounded on him. "Plenty, like the way you always change the subject when we come into a room?"

"Why would we do that?" Harry retorted.

"Maybe because you don't want us to hear what you're talking about!" Sydney offered sarcastically.

"And I suppose everything we say is automatically your business!" Harry exclaimed.

"We're your teammates; we can't hide things from each other!" Sydney yelled.

"If it's something important then we'll tell you!" Harry said.

"And who gets to decide that?"

"We do!" Harry exploded, practically snorting in his rage.

"Then what were you talking about when we came in a minute ago?" Sydney demanded.

"We were talking about you!" Harry exclaimed.

"And you don't think we need to discuss that!" Sydney said.

"We are!" Harry yelled.

"Fine," Sydney yelled. "What are we doing here? Why aren't we working on finding the Death Eaters? It's been more than two weeks and we don't even have a plan."

"We're going to find Malfoy at a Quidditch Match, how is that not a plan?" Harry demanded.

"Because we haven't decided what we're going to do there!" Sydney exclaimed. "We don't even have tickets to the game!"

"It's more of a plan than we've ever had before!" Harry spat.

"Why did you ask us here?" Sydney demanded again. "What are we supposed to be? Your cannon fodder?"

"We di- of course not, we need your help," Harry exclaimed. "Why else?"

Seething, Sydney pulled out her wand and pointed it squarely at the bridge of Harry's nose. Fear flashed behind his eyes, but reason caught up with him a second later and he crossed his arms and stared at her dully.

"This," Sydney said, shaking her wand but not lowering it, "these," she grabbed a handful of robe at her thigh and lifted it slightly, "it's all not helping. We can act British, we can act like Wizards, we can teach any of the classes you want us to, but we're not accomplishing anything, so why don't we come up with a way to finish this so we can get on with out lives."

"Don't you understand?" Harry asked. "That's why we need you. You're not just extra fighters. We've never had a plan before, there's never been time. Usually battles come to us, so we fight and hope that not too many people get hurt in the process, but along the way the victories kept getting narrower and narrower. Last time, if it hadn't been for…" Harry cut himself off and restarted. "Now we have an advantage and we don't know what to do with it, but this is what you do, so we need you to come up with our plans, like you did when you said we should be apprentices instead of substitute teachers."

"And you won't keep ignoring us?" Sydney prompted.

"We never ignored-" Harry started, but Sydney glared at him and he corrected himself, saying, "No, we won't ignore you."

"Alright," Sydney replied, finally lowering her wand.

"Alright," Harry repeated.

Heaving sighs of relief, Ron, Hermione, and Michael returned from the corners they'd retreated to at the beginning of the row.

"Is that everything?" Hermione asked hopefully.

Michael nodded, but Sydney replied, "Not quite."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione winced but nodded for her to continue.

"We can't you treat us like you treat each other?"

"How do you…" Ron started.

"Don't start with that again," Sydney muttered. "And I don't quite mean how you treat each other, because I've never seen a closer group of friends than you three, but you're so polite and formal, you practically bow when you see us. You don't even do that to Professor McGonagall."

"We were just trying to be respectful to you," Harry tried uncertainly, glancing sideways at Ron and Hermione, who nodded.

"We just wanted to make sure you don't feel inferior here," Hermione added.

"Well, it didn't work," Sydney said. "What you're doing is as much discrimination as if you made us sleep in a different room from you."

Harry and Ron winced simultaneously, several unfortunate acronyms already floating through their heads, and Hermione quailed.

"But we don't…" Ron started.

"No," Sydney snapped, "you make us share rooms with you because you assume that if 'something happened,' as you put it, we wouldn't be able to defend ourselves."

"What do you want us to do?" Harry asked, his mind reeling.

"Remember that you asked us here, because if you think that we can't handle what's coming then we might as well go home now," Sydney replied. "You also need to know that it is our job to blend in here, but if you don't help us and treat us like equals then our cover could be blown. Then there's the fact that we don't like being put on a pedestal or treated like we have substandard intelligence."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at each other and then at Michael. When he didn't add anything, Harry said, "Alright."

"That's it?" Sydney demanded. "Just 'alright'?"

"Sorry, too," Ron added.

"What?" Sydney asked. She'd expected this to take a lot more effort, in fact, she'd expected the wizards to deny that they'd done anything that could be considered discrimination.

"We'll try to make those changes," Hermione explained. "Hopefully most of it hasn't become habit yet.

"That easy?" Sydney asked, giving them a suspicious look.

"I don't know about easy," Ron replied.

"You modified your entire way of life to join a fight you didn't even know about. It's the least we can do to treat you how you want to be treated," Harry explained.

Hermione added, "I suppose the trouble was-"

"Don't bother with excuses!" Sydney snapped, feeling her suspicions were about to be proven right after all.

"Alright, sorry," Hermione said, cringing. "I just thought you might like an explanation."

Sydney sighed. "Continue."

"For most of the past year the three of us have been alone together, looking for the Horcruxes. I guess we just got used to either giving orders or taking them when other people were involved, so when you came along we weren't sure how to treat someone of equal rank. Then there's the fact that you're Muggles."

Sydney, who up until that moment had looked satisfied with Hermione's explanation, became immediately agitated again, demanding, "What does that have to do with it?"

Hermione winced and continued, "A lot more than you might realize. We knew how Squibs and Muggles tend to be treated, I've had to take some of it myself because I'm Muggle born, so we wanted to make sure that you would get the respect you deserve, at least from us. Apparently that was the wrong way to go."

"It was thoughtful of you to try, I suppose," Sydney admitted. "You need to understand, it's not easy for us to live here with you and blend in with your world."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "You always seem so at ease with it all, like nothing ever surprises you."

"We were trained to play along with any situation we come across in the field," Sydney explained. "We're good actors, nothing more."

"Your world was completely alien to us when we got here," Michael added.

"Not only are we Muggles, we're American," Sydney said. "And things are different here. We're trying to help you, but I guess we just need a little more help from you first, so volunteer information, tell us where you think we're slipping up."

"Anything we can do," Harry offered.

"We've actually been hoping that you'd come to us with something like this. We didn't like being so formal around you all the time," Hermione said.

"But we didn't want to assume you wanted us to stop," Harry added.

"The truth is, Harry and I were both outcasts when we lived among Muggles, he more than I," Hermione said. "We weren't sure how to act around you."

"We didn't want to mess it up, because you're so important to us," Harry finished, "so we played it safe."

"Do you want to reopen the room assignment question?" Ron offered.

"No," Sydney admitted. "I think we got it right the first time."

"Are we okay, then?" Harry asked.

"One last thing," Sydney said. "Where were you the morning of the day before yesterday?"

"We were here," Hermione replied, eyebrow arching.

"Well, what were you doing?" Sydney pressed. "You obviously weren't researching, or planning, or even teaching. I was trying to come up with a plan and it would have been helpful to have you around."

"Well, sorry," Harry said, "but we were celebrating."

"Celebrating?" Sydney asked. "What could you possibly have to celebrate?"

"It was Hermione's birthday," Ron said quietly.

"Oh," Sydney sighed. She seemed to battle with herself for a moment, then said, "Happy Birthday."

Despite the assurances of the wizards, Sydney still didn't quite believe that they would make such a dramatic shift of behavior so quickly, but her fears were quickly proven groundless.

The very next morning at breakfast, Hermione asked Sydney if she wanted to be 'observed' in Muggle Studies class again and Sydney politely declined. Then they got into a very interesting discussion about why Muggles and Wizards remain in separate societies. After that, they had some form of debate whenever they got the chance.

Michael also experienced a marked increase in the friendliness of the Wizards, the most dramatic example of which occurred a few days later when he returned to the dormitory after a day of teaching and found Ron sitting in the middle of what looked like about half the books in the library, along with quite a few maps of structures that looked very similar to the Quidditch pitch. Nearly every surface in the small room was covered, including all three beds and Ron's knees, upon which rested an order form for tickets to a Quidditch game.

"What happened to you?" Ron asked, looking up at Michael, who was covered head to foot in chalk dust.

"Dramatic recreation on the Goblin revolt of 1612," Michael replied, forcing back the urge to dust himself off. "Those first years are fun."

"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered, leaning forward to turn a page in the book in front of him.

"Um, Ron?" Michael said uncomfortably.

"Yeah?" Ron replied.

"Could you help me out here?"

"What?" Ron asked, looking up at him. "Oh, right, sorry."

Ron lifted up several books, looking for his wand and finally located it in a stack of papers to his right. He twirled it thoughtfully for a moment, then pointed it at Michael. Almost immediately, the chalk dust disappeared.

"Thanks," Michael said, glancing down at his robes.

"No problem," Ron replied. "I've never been very good a cleaning spells, though, did I miss anywhere?"

"I don't think so," Michael said, turning around to let Ron see if there was any dust left on his back.

"Do you need help with this?" Michael asked as he gazed around at the sea of books, guessing that Ron was attempting to buy tickets to the Quidditch game that would give them the best view of the game and the people in the stands.

"Not unless you've got some advice that Hermione and Sydney haven't already given me," Ron replied, shoving a book away and picking up another.

"Probably not," Michael replied as he looked around quizzically. He usually took his History of Magic book with him to his lessons, but now it looked like there was no place to put it.

"May I leave this here?" Michael asked, locating a likely spot on the floor near the door.

"Stop!" Ron commanded suddenly, nearly causing Michael to jump and drop the book in that place anyway. "Don't put that there!"

"Why not?" Michael gasped, his heart pounding.

"It's against the nature of the universe!" Ron declared.

"Where can I put it then?" Michael asked, suspecting that Ron was not to be believed in this matter.

"Oh, just anywhere," Ron replied, "but not there!"

However, a strange glint in Ron's eye gave him away, and Michael tossed the book defiantly in the exact place Ron had forbidden him to, then made his way back to the common room, observing no tears in the fabric of time or space. It was strange, but to Michael, being on the butt end of a joke finally solidified his full inclusion to the group.

---------------------

In the locker room before his fifth Quidditch practice with the Kestrals, Harry was still being ignored. If anything, the team had been treating him progressively worse since he refused to take a hint and give up. Harry had even tried to strike up a friendly conversation with the other players about their common interest, Quidditch, but they just huffed and walked away.

Harry wasn't sure how much longer he could stand being treated like this, and he was feeling inspired by Sydney's abrupt confrontation of him, Ron, and Hermione.

Harry stood and, steeling himself up, said to the room at large, "Listen, I know we didn't get off to a very good start, but I think I have a good idea of what you lot think of me and I think this has gone far enough. So I want you to know that I tried out for this position just like everyone else that wanted it and I didn't ask to be given the starting spot. I also didn't buy this broom so that I'd be better than the rest of you. It was a gift I got when I was thirteen and often happens to help make me better than the seeker I'm playing against. I want to win this game as much as you do. We're all on the same side here. It'd probably help if we start acting like it."

Harry sat down to watch their reactions. Some looked blasphemed at the nerve of him while others seemed genuinely impressed. At any rate, practice showed a marked decrease in jeers directed at Harry and an increase in optimism about the approaching game.

The center piece of it all was when the reserve Seeker called Harry over and respectfully pointed out a flaw in his technique that no on had ever mentioned before. Harry returned the favor by talking him through the finer points of the sloth grip roll, something that had been causing the other seeker trouble. By the time practice was over, Harry finally allowed himself to think that he might just be able to pull this mission off.

---------------------

"Have a look at this," Michael said, giving Sydney a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_.

Sydney blinked as the book was suddenly dropped on top of the one she was already reading. She did as he requested, but the text was exceedingly small, and she suspected that even if she read the indicated pages, she still wouldn't know what Michael was going on about.

Finally, Michael took pity on her and indicated a specific paragraph, saying, "The groundskeeper at Hogwarts is also known as the 'Keeper of the Keys,' but no one knows what the name refers to anymore."

Sydney suddenly became very interested in what the book had to say. "_The Groundskeeper has a shack at the edge of the forbidden forest where he keeps his supplies_," Sydney read. "Let's go check it out."

They walked up to the door of the decrepit groundskeeper's hut and knocked. It looked like it had once caught fire and had only been partly repaired. When there was no answer, Sydney tried using the key they'd found, observing happily that this was one of the only places in all of Hogwarts that used a lock. However, the key didn't fit, so she pulled out her lock picking tools and forced their way inside.

What they found inside made them very happy they'd knocked first, for, some time between when _Hogwarts: A History_ was published and the present date, the hut had ceased to be a storage closet and become someone's house instead. It seemed that this person was also exceedingly huge; everything remaining in the house was much larger than it ought to be. However, the place also looked abandoned; a thin layer of dust covered all the charred furniture.

"We should still have a look around," Sydney said.

"Just try not to disturb anything," Michael agreed.

They spent almost an hour searching the hut, looking for anything sporting Rambaldi's eye or a keyhole, but soon it became too dark to continue, and they didn't dare to light a lantern because they were certain that they weren't supposed to be there and it would give them away.

Their search had been relatively thorough, and the fact that they hadn't found anything filled Sydney with mixed emotions. However, as soon as they stepped outside and the door locked behind them, Sydney yelped.

"We didn't check out here!"

They were suddenly engaged in a made race against the fading light. Just as it seemed they would have to give up again, Sydney found a loose brick that must have been knocked partway out when the chimney was added to the hut. She pulled it free and grimaced but reached hopefully into the gap. When she felt only dirt and cobwebs within she pulled her hand out and examined the brick instead.

"What'd you find?" Michael asked.

Awestruck, Sydney lifted the brick to the remaining light so Michael could see the keyhole in one side.

Sydney and Michael strode through the castle, heading towards the Room of Requirement, the only place in the entire castle where they could have guaranteed privacy. They opened the door on a barren room containing only a table and two chairs that also happened to boast a very reassuring bolt in the door.

They sat down at the table and Sydney opened the brick. There was a tightly rolled piece of heavy paper inside which she extracted and opened carefully.

It read:

_If mysteries you wish to sight_

_Seek the one too quick to fight._

"That's it?" Michael demanded. "A riddle?"

Sydney flipped the paper over, looking for more but finding nothing.

"Who do you suppose this 'one too quick to fight' is?"

"I don't know," Michael sighed. "There must be a hundred people here who fit that description."

"But whoever it is must have been around at the same time as Rambaldi," Sydney pointed out. "That narrows it down a bit."

"A ghost maybe?" Michael suggested.

"Or a picture," Sydney replied.

"There are over a thousand pictures in this castle," Michael said.

"I know."

---------------------

The Wednesday before the match, Ron and Hermione found Harry in the library.

"Are you coming down to dinner?" Ron asked.

"I'm not hungry," Harry replied, not looking up from his book. "You go on without me."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, snapping his book shut. "This past week you've spent all your time either on a broomstick or here with your nose stuck in _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and by my count, none of it eating or sleeping. You know it doesn't help when you do this to yourself. Just take a break a minute."

"Yeah," Ron interjected. "You're spending more time in the library than Hermione."

Hermione shot him a look, but didn't argue.

"But I can't," Harry said. "Our entire mission relies on my ability to pull this off, and I'm not sure I can."

"Well, what makes you think that?" Ron asked. "In all the games you've played, I've only seen one time when you didn't catch the snitch and that wasn't your fault. Besides, you've come under fire plenty of times before, and you've never let the idea that you couldn't do it stop you."

"This time it's different," Harry replied. "This isn't an ordinary Quidditch game, and whenever I've come up against something similar to this I just happened to be there, I was never anticipating it two weeks beforehand."

"Except for the Triwizard Tournament," Hermione pointed out.

"Except for the Triwizard Tournament," Harry conceded, "where, as I recall, I nearly died."

"And which you spent nearly every second for the better part of the year stressing over," Hermione countered.

"Fine, I'll go down to dinner," Harry said, moving to get up.

"While you're at it," Hermione said, "you might want to have a look at this." She offered him the advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts book she'd been holding.

"Professor Caden's been working up a nice head cold all week, and he looks like he might want to take the next two days off," Ron explained. "It's the perfect thing to get your mind off Quidditch."

"Oh, fine, I'll have a look at it after dinner," Harry sighed, not wanting to lose another argument with them.

Aside from his students wanting to know more about Harry's encounter with Voldemort than the skills that saved him, Harry's experience as a substitute teacher went relatively well, better, at least, than his miserable first few attempts. By the time the last class ended on Thursday he had given up trying to ignore their requests for him to recount his former battles, but he learned to incorporate teaching the subject matter into his stories, making Friday very productive. Ginny even came up to him after class and said that she'd learned more from him in an hour than from Professor Caden all year, and she hadn't even realized any of it until class was over. Harry tried to look gratified, but Ginny had reminded him that there were less than thirty hours between him and the Quidditch game that could put an end to their entire mission. He immediately excused himself and spent the rest of the evening on a broomstick chasing the snitch. He stayed out until it was too dark to see and he had to use Accio to find it.


	9. Nobody Said it was Easy

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, cake pans, cookie cutters, and crazy candy are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "The Scientist" by Coldplay.

**Chapter 9: Nobody Said it was Easy**

"Come on, Harry, you stay in bed much longer and you'll miss the match," Ron said as he sifted through his trunk.

"It can't be morning already," Harry said, his face still buried in his pillow. To an outsider the statement might have sounded like in cohesive mumbling, but Ron had been rooming with Harry long enough that he was able to figure it out anyway.

"Oh, yes," Ron replied. "In fact, its way past morning, it's almost five in the afternoon. Your game starts in half an hour. I figured you'd want to be awake for it."

"What?" Harry demanded, sitting up and grabbing his glasses off the nightstand in one slick movement. His next attempt wasn't nearly as graceful: he tried to stand up and put his glasses on at the same time, but by now the adrenaline had set in and he only succeeded in tangling his foot in the blankets, falling in the floor, and poking himself in the eye. When he finally managed to pull himself together he found Ron choking on his own laughter while he sat on his bed in his pajamas and Michael attempting to show his disapproval of the joke while still chuckling. Harry grabbed a nearby balled up sock and threw it at Ron, hoping it was dirty, then went to dig some robes out of his trunk.

Harry was permitted to bring as many guests as he desired on the team transport, but it was decided that only Sydney and Michael should go with him, so the configuration of their team would not be so easily discernable to anyone who happened to be paying attention. By the time five o'clock actually rolled around, Harry, Sydney and Michael were sitting in the front of the bus finalizing their strategy.

The bus ride was riotous, except for Harry, Sydney, and Michael's row. The Muggles had their heads bent over one of Ron's maps of the pitch, cunningly bewitched to look like a snippet of newspaper from a distance. Harry's trip was marked by an increasingly sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, which made itself painfully manifest in the form of a rising lump in his throat, and whenever the bus hit a bump Harry wished he'd skipped breakfast and lunch.

When they arrived at the stadium, Harry was ushered off to the locker rooms with the rest of the team, while Sydney and Michael made their way to their seats. It was the first time they had been anywhere in the Wizarding world without Harry, Ron, and Hermione with them. Even though Harry had checked their anti-Muggle repelling charms by making sure they could see the stadium as they approached, it was still a tense moment. Since they couldn't actually use their wands, they were nearly defenseless if they got in trouble. Even all their training in hand to hand combat seemed useless, as that form of defense could be defeated in as long as it took for a wizard to say "Locomotor Mortis." For two CIA agents, who were used to being at least partly in control of a situation, the feeling was very unsettling. However, they made it to their seats without incident and a few minutes later Ron and Hermione took their seats directly in front of them. Ron, Hermione, and Sydney started scanning the crowd with Omnioculars while Michael watched for any suspicious movement nearby. They weren't having much luck, however. The first places each checked were the most expensive seating, the places with the best view of the pitch. If Malfoy was there, he wasn't making himself very easy to find.

---------------

Harry hardly heard the captain's pep talk as he slipped shakily into his robes. He was being stupid, he informed himself, he hadn't been nervous about a Quidditch match in years, and this was no time to start. This wasn't so different from the countless matches he'd played at Hogwarts. The Kestrals were riding on a fifteen year losing streak; no one would blame him if he missed the Snitch in favor of the greater mission, although Ron would probably be even more disappointed than Harry. Just like old times. Still, there was rather more than simple victory or defeat riding on this match, and rather more people watching.

It was a minute before Harry realized that he was trying to put his gloves on the wrong hands and a minute after that before he noticed he'd forgotten to lace up his boots first, an impossible task with the thick leather gloves on. Sighing, he tugged off his gloves again, hoping he'd manage to pull himself together before he messed up something important. However, no such luck seemed forthcoming: he flew out onto the pitch with the rest of the team, but no sooner had the announcer called out his name than his stomach made such a forceful bid for the ground that Harry was momentarily concerned he might not be able to remain airborne, but his Firebolt behaved as though nothing was different and he soared around the pitch. Soon, the heaviness in his stomach was gone, replaced by the elated feeling that characterized his flights.

The players took their positions around the center of the pitch and the Snitch and Bludgers were released. Harry tried to watch his target as if flew off, but it passed in front of a light and he lost it in the glare. As he turned back to the referee, Draco Malfoy caught his eye and sent one of his best sneers. Oh yeah, old times.

---------------

Ron, Hermione, Sydney, and Michael's search was augmented with the final preparations before the match, and they paid careful attention to anyone who cheered especially loudly when Draco Malfoy was announced or looked especially angry at Harry. However, in general the exact opposite was true. Malfoy actually had to dodge a few curses while he circled the field with his teammates. They also hadn't expected the overwhelming positive response when Harry entered the field. They should have perhaps been ready for it, as Harry was currently the greatest hero of the Wizarding world, whether he liked to admit it or not. As it was, when Harry was announced, the crowd surrounding the rest of the team surged to its feet, catching the group off guard and conspicuously still in their chairs. Hermione managed to catch a glimpse of Harry in her Omnioculars, looking bewildered and overwhelmed. Finally, the crowd settled back down, the players took their positions, and the referee released the Quaffle.

The result was instantaneous. The crowd was immediately back on its feet in a chorus of cheers and boos as the Wasps managed to gain possession of the Quaffle first. However, the Chaser didn't keep hold of it for long; he took a Bludger to the stomach and dropped the ball.

The game continued in a similarly intense fashion, giving the entire group, but Ron especially, trouble staying focused on their task instead of the action. Lucius Malfoy was still elusive. They had chosen their seats specifically so that they were facing the side supporting the Wasps and were able to see as many people as they could. Still, with five thousand Witches and Wizards in the stands, any of whom could be Malfoy in disguise, the task was daunting to say the least. They had hoped they would be able to find the man without help from Harry, but it seemed that was truly impossible. Sydney reflected the lighting off her watch, a signal for help that Harry had agreed to watch for. In the meantime, Ron left for the other side of the stadium, hoping to get an alternate view of the place.

Since he was on the lookout for shiny objects anyway, Harry noticed Sydney's watch right away, and changed from watching the Snitch primarily to dividing his attention between the search and Draco. His opponent seemed as intent on the game as Harry was supposed to be, and didn't give away any hints for a few minutes. However, eventually an opportunity presented itself in the form of a foul against Harry's team. As the Chaser took the penalty shot, Draco ceased his search and, in true Malfoy fashion, chose to show off with a few vertical loops on his broom. Harry was utterly unimpressed, loops were, after all, one of his own favorite ways to ease his nerves mid match, but then Draco stopped and looked into a nearby part of the stands as though to see if someone had been watching him.

This interested Harry immensely, but he didn't have any time to investigate any further himself, as the match had started again. Instead, he spent a few moments carefully looking for the Snitch, then, pretending he found it, shot off at full speed, pointed exactly at the location Draco had looked, in a modified Wronski Feint. This caught most of the crowd's attention, but when Harry pulled up and displayed his bluff it was to the groans of most of them, but not to Ron, Hermione, Sydney, or Michael: that was the signal they had been waiting for. Strangely enough, the area that Harry had indicated was only a few rows behind them. Hermione, Sydney, and Michael were unable to take a closer look without arousing suspicion, so Sydney went to follow Ron in pursuit of a better angle. Before she reached her destination, however, she intersected the Wizard, who was running to find her from the other side of the stadium.

"Did you find him?" Sydney asked, turning around to follow Ron in the opposite direction.

"Yeah," Ron replied, slightly out of breath from his race around the pitch. "He's a teenager, about my age, brown hair, tall…"

"You're sure it's him?" Sydney asked, surprised.

"If you'd have see his face after Harry almost barreled into him, you'd be sure too. He looked like he wanted to grab a Beater stick and send the nearest Bludger after him. Not to mention the fact that he didn't bother disguising his sidekicks."

"We'd better hurry, then," Sydney said, putting on an extra burst of speed.

They ran in silence for the next few hundred feet, until they passed a group of stairs leading to the stands and Ron chanced a glance into the stadium.

"Oh, no," he said, immediately sliding to a halt.

"What?" Sydney asked, coming back to meet him.

"Draco's spotted the Snitch, he's tracking it," Ron said. "Harry's on him, but he won't be able to hold him off for very long."

"Let's go!" Sydney exclaimed, now running at full speed and preparing a syringe full of the radioactive substance that could trace Malfoy's location back to the Death Eaters' headquarters. She arrived at the section about thirty seconds later, and for lack of a better way to get where she needed to be, started climbing the scaffolding. Ron arrived a few seconds after her and eliminated her need to climb herself by simply using Wingardium Leviosa to lift her.

Sydney started examining the feet of the people she passed, requiring her to manipulate her position greatly, but Ron called, "Please hold still, this spell is only supposed to be used on inanimate objects, it takes a lot more concentration to use it on something that moves."

When she saw the amount of effort he was forced to put into this seemingly simple spell she immediately ceased her attempt. When she was lifted to the correct location she took hold of the nearby scaffolding to steady herself and hopefully take some of the pressure off Ron.

"There's one person about your size surrounded by two people who are a lot bigger. The middle one sounds like a real egomaniac," Sydney called down to Ron.

Ron tried to tell her that she had the right person but only made a grunting sound, so he simply nodded, then closed his eyes, trying to focus his concentration. A second later he fell to his knees.

Sydney pulled the cap off the needle with her teeth and waited for the moment when Lucius would be sufficiently distracted for her to give him the injection without his noticing, all the while feeling herself growing steadily heavier against her supporting arm and leg.

Suddenly, the crowd exploded in cheers and Sydney jabbed the needle into Lucius' calf. A split second later Ron's support failed and she had only her grip on the scaffolding between her and falling to the ground fifty feet below. She felt Ron trying to levitate her back to the ground, but he was struggling. The last spell must have taken too much out of him.

"It's alright, Ron" Sydney called. "I'll climb down."

"No," Ron replied, "it'll take too long. The game must be over. In a few seconds people are going to start flooding out of those stands and, you can't be up there when they do."

Sydney was descending as fast as she could, but was still about forty feet up. "Listen," she said, "I don't know if you can hurt yourself while you're doing a spell, but it seems to me like you almost did. If I just let go, neither of us might walk away from this."

Sydney usually didn't allow herself to panic on missions, but she couldn't avoid considering how difficult it would be to concoct a worthy excuse if she was caught half way up the scaffolding behind the stands.

Suddenly, she heard Hermione yell from a little ways away, "Sydney, let go!" Without any other options, she did as she was told, and just before she thought the impact would come she stopped and was straightened to her feet before being lowered the final few inches to the ground.

"You alright?" Hermione asked as she brushed by.

Sydney was shaken but fine, so Hermione left her to Michael and went to help Ron. He was still on his knees, his head in his hands. Hermione managed to get him to his feet before they were surrounded by people.

She pulled him to a more out of the way location before asking, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Ron replied. "I think so."

"What'd you do that for?" Hermione demanded, speaking to his feet.

"Do what?" Ron asked, confused about how she could possibly be angry with him right now.

"You used Wingardium Leviosa, didn't you?" Hermione said, pounding her fists into his chest, but when he tipped backwards weakly from the force she caught his arms and pulled him back onto balance.

"Yeah," Ron shrugged. "It was all I could come up with in about two seconds. It's kind of an old standby of mine, see."

"Elevatum, use Elevatum next time," Hermione suggested, looking at his feet again.

"Oh, right," Ron sighed. "Hey, Hermione…"

"Yes?"

"I don't think I can Apparate."

"That's fine; we'll take the Knight Bus," Hermione replied, blinking rapidly.

Ron tried to take a step, but his legs gave out. Hermione managed to steady him.

"I don't think I can walk, either."

"What gave you that idea?" Hermione asked jokingly, pulling his arm over her shoulder and taking his waist in her other hand.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Who caught the Snitch?"

"Harry did. Malfoy was so mad."

"Nice."

---------------

Since the Kenmore Kestrels were celebrating their first victory in years, Harry, Sydney, and Michael couldn't get away from the after party for some time, but when they did they found another one waiting for them at Hogwarts when they met up with Ron and Hermione. They were all ecstatic. Word traveled fast in the Wizarding world, so most of the students already knew of Harry's victory and he was the subject of many roaring cheers as he made his way through the castle, a real feat since it was well past midnight and the students were supposed to be in their dormitories.

However, Harry maintained that the real victory went to Ron and Sydney, for being the ones to carry out the true mission. Ron was still a little out of it, but didn't need help walking anymore. They forced him to see Madam Pomfrey anyway, who said that he would be fine after a good night's rest, but made her opinion that he should never try such a stunt again quite clear. Sydney seemed fine to most of them, but Michael insisted that she was still quite rattled. Even so, none of them seemed very keen on sleeping that night, so Hermione went to the kitchen for some food and Harry braved Hogsmeade to get Butterbeer. They sat up until the early hours of the morning, eating, drinking, celebrating, and recapping the different parts of the mission for those who didn't have the benefit of observing them. They were lucky the next day was a Sunday; none of them would have been able to serve any helpful function to the school if it was asked of them.


	10. An Undone War Still Rages and Stings

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, wallets, shirts, and hats are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Let Your Troubles Roll By" by Carbon Leaf.

**Chapter 10: An Undone War Still Wages and Stings**

By the following Wednesday, the excitement over the Quidditch game had died down, even among the easily excitable student body and Hermione and Michael had both been called upon to teach.

The rest of the team spent the morning in the library, attempting to continue their research, even though they really had only a limited idea of where this fight would take them next.

Ron finally got fed up with the futility of it all and asked, "When will we find out where Malfoy went?"

"I can download the information to my laptop computer, but we'll have to get away from Hogwarts first," Sydney replied, setting down her quill.

Harry and Ron caught each other's eyes and shrugged, supposing that this was just as good a time as any.

Since it was nearing lunch anyway, they decided to make the excursion a picnic and Harry and Ron went to the kitchens instead to get the food, while Sydney went back to her room for her laptop. They met back in the Entrance Hall then began the trek to Hogsmeade.

Once there, Harry found himself in the limelight again, as random people on the street, who apparently took more time to calm down than giddy students, congratulated Harry on his Quidditch game. Luckily, their destination was on the outskirts of town, so it was decided that Harry didn't need to leave the others for a crowd deterring detour.

"There you have it," Ron said as they approached an inconspicuous rock formation, "the best hiding place in all of Hogsmeade."

"Sirius hid here almost our entire fourth year," Harry said with a hint of sadness in his voice as they started to climb. "Nearly starved to death, but he was never found."

Ron too looked uncharacteristically sullen at the mention of Sirius, so Sydney, although curious about him, decided to find another time to ask.

"Here we are," Harry said as they finally finished the climb and slipped into the cave.

"You'd never guess it was this big from the outside," Ron said, trying to look cheerful, but failing miserably. In fact, both Harry and Ron were looking a bit claustrophobic.

"You alright?" Sydney asked as she pulled her computer out of her bag.

"Oh, yeah, fine," Ron replied, digging through the food they brought along. "Is that really all the equipment you need? I thought it would be a lot bigger."

"All the fancy stuff is in orbit," Sydney explained, taking a sandwich from Ron. "This is just used to retrieve the information."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

"Well," Sydney said thoughtfully, "right now, about twenty thousand miles above us there is a CIA satellite. It's tracking the decay of the radioactive isotope we injected in Malfoy and when I tell it to, it will send his location to this computer." When she noticed the confused expression on his face she added, "Are you following any of this?"

"Are there lots of these satellites up there?" Ron asked.

"Only a couple thousand," Sydney replied. Her tone was sarcastic, but she was actually quite pleased that Ron was showing such an interest in Muggle technology.

"Well, that explains why I kept failing my astronomy exams," Ron said. "After that, I'm lost. Harry, you grew up with Muggles, maybe you can translate."

But Harry wasn't listening. He had his head against the stone wall, his brow knit, as though he was desperately trying to block out an unpleasant memory.

"Harry?" Ron asked carefully, shaking him slightly, but to no avail.

Harry was instead sitting in the same place of the same cave, _while the rain poured outside and collected an ever deepening puddle on the stone ground. Lightning lit up the dark sky occasionally, illuminating the three huddled figures in the cave._

_They were trying to avoid doing anything that would indicate they were there, but eventually Hermione could stand the cold and wet no longer. She cleared the water out of the bottom of the cave, sealed the entrance, and then conjured a small blue fire in front of them. Ordinarily, Harry might have objected, but the heat from the fire was too inviting._

_They sat in silence for some time, unable to think of anything to say, or, rather, how to say what they thought. Meanwhile, they all battled with the desire to go and join in the fight and the impulse to stay where they were and wait it out. Occasionally, a bang sounded in the distance, one quite unlike a thunderclap._

_After a while, Ron glanced at the small blue fire in the middle of the cave, then between Harry, Hermione, and the large bag of marshmallow like snacks he'd bought in Honeydukes, then back to Harry, and finally to his wand. If his companions noticed anything odd about his behavior, they didn't mention it, at least not until he pulled out a marshmallow, stuck it on the end of his wand, and made to thrust the sweet into the fire._

"_Wait!"_

"_Stop!"_

_Before another second had elapsed, Hermione had grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm back and Harry had pulled out his own wand, apparently ready to extinguish the fire if Ron got any closer._

_Ron, however, sat back, pulled the marshmallow off his wand, and burst into fits of laughter._

"_Blimey, you two really are tense."_

"_Give us one reason why we shouldn't be," Harry muttered, with the air of someone who knew he had been tricked. However, it was exceedingly difficult to stay angry with Ron for long, especially after he located some real sticks and passed one of them and a handful of marshmallows to each of his friends._

_They might have looked like the Muggle snack, but these marshmallows were clearly magic. They changed color depending on their temperature while expanding until they were approximately the size of a human head, at which point they would explode, covering everything in a sticky mess. This happened several times, until Harry, Ron, and Hermione mastered the timing._

_Half an hour later, Ron's supply of marshmallows had been depleted and they all felt rather sticky inside and out, despite Hermione's best cleaning spell. Less lasting was the happy feeling that their brief break from grim reality had given them._

_Feeling he could wait no longer, Harry said, "I'm going back to Hogwarts. You don't need to come with me, this isn't your battle."_

_Ron and Hermione looked aghast._

"_Not our battle!" Hermione demanded. "How did you decide that?"_

"_It just isn't," Harry sighed_

"_You're going to have to do better than that, mate," Ron said. "It's not like we haven't fought Death Eaters before."_

"_This time it's different," Harry informed them cryptically._

"_I don't know what you're talking about, Harry," Hermione said, "but if you go in there we're coming too."_

"_Fine," Harry moaned. As much as he wanted to keep them from as much danger as he could, he was grateful for their help, even selfishly so. "But I want you to promise me something."_

"_What?" Ron asked._

"_If I don't make it out, I want you to get out, take your parents and siblings," Harry explained. "Leave England, leave Europe, go anywhere just as long as it's far away, and be happy for awhile."_

_Neither seemed entirely certain of how to respond to that. Of course they wouldn't just run and leave the world to Voldemort, not while they could still fight, and it was slightly insulting that Harry thought they would even consider behaving otherwise. And why was he going on about dying all of a sudden?_

"_Harry, if this is about that prophecy," Hermione started._

"_So what if it is," Harry muttered._

"_You told us Dumbledore said that it will only come true if you and Voldemort make it," Hermione replied._

"_Well, Voldemort doesn't know that, does he," Harry pointed out. "And even if he did, you really think he'd let me live, knowing that I'm the only person who could kill him, especially now that we've destroyed all his Horcruxes."_

"_No one's suffered more at Voldemort's hands," Hermione said, "but that doesn't mean you should go in there looking for a fight. McGonagall sent you that warning so you would stay away."_

"_McGonagall sent me that warning so I would know what was happening and make my own decision," Harry replied. "I'm going to go in there and fight with everything I have, and there's a good chance I won't live to tell about it, but if I don't try then this is never going to stop."_

"_Harry, you're going in there, that's fine, and we're coming with you whether you like it or not," Ron said forcefully._

"_We've come with you this far, Harry," Hermione added. "This is hardly the time to back out."_

_Harry wanted to ask them once more to stay behind and not put themselves in jeopardy for his sake, but he knew it was no use. Instead he said, "Can we go then?"_

"Harry!" Ron said, shaking him awake.

"What?" Harry asked groggily, returning to his usual plane of reality. He was still in the cave, but it was sunlight pouring down through the cave's entrance, not rain, and Hermione had been replaced by Sydney. "What'd I do?"

"Well, nothing," Ron admitted, "but I was trying to ask you something."

"Sorry," Harry said shakily, wiping his hand across his forehead and stopping over the familiar bump of his scar. "Sorry, I must have drifted off, what'd you need?"

"It doesn't matter," Ron replied. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"'Course," Harry replied. "I'm fine." However, Harry hadn't quite managed the art of looking fine while saying it.

Ron crossed his arms and demanded, "Come on, mate, let's have it."

"It's nothing," Harry said, groping around for a satisfactory excuse. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" Ron pressed.

"Marshmallows," Harry replied with a smirk.

"Ha, yeah," Ron laughed.

Sydney's laptop started beeping suddenly, causing both Harry and Ron to jump, but Sydney merely looked at it curiously.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"The computer determined where Malfoy went," Sydney replied, tapping a few buttons. "It looks like he's been there for a few days, this might be their base. I'm pulling up a visual." She turned the laptop so they could see the screen. "Recognize it?"

"Can you give it a wider view?" Harry asked after studying it a moment, "so we can see nearby cities as well?"

Sydney did as Harry requested and pointed out London on the map. The dot indicating Malfoy's location was several miles to the west. She overlaid a map on the satellite image, revealing that the dot was in Wiltshire.

"Malfoy Manor," Harry breathed.

"You're sure?" Sydney asked.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"Oh, that's original," Ron said, disgusted. "Leave it to him to use his own mansion. We could've guessed there and not even bothered with the Quidditch match."

"It doesn't look very well guarded," Sydney said, zooming back in on the building. "There aren't even any guards outside."

"Wizards don't need guards to keep something protected," Ron said. "We found that out in our first year."

"They're trying to stay unnoticed, anyway," Harry reminded them. "Guards on the outside would only arouse suspicion. The place is bound to be protected by charms."

"Well, there must be some way his followers get in without having to deal with all that, the trick is to find it," Sydney said. She changed the display to show an infrared readout. The image immediately changed from a regular picture to a colorful map of the area, with red spots generally indicating people. However, there was a great black void right where Malfoy Manor was supposed to be.

"What are we looking at?" Ron asked.

"Well," Sydney said. "The building is here, but the satellite isn't picking up any heat from it. That means that either something isn't letting any of the heat escape-"

"Or there's so much Magic there that your satellite can't get through it," Harry finished for her.

"You can guess which on is more likely," Sydney said.

"There must be something going on in there," Ron said.

--------------

That afternoon the team met in their common room to discuss what they had found.

"So we have no idea what the inside of the building is like and no way of finding out," Michael said after Harry, Ron, and Sydney finished explaining themselves.

"Yeah, that's pretty much it," Ron replied.

"Well, we can't expect to pull this off if we're going in there blind," Michael said.

"It doesn't look like we're going to have much of a choice," Hermione declared. "If this is the best your satellite can do, I don't know of any spell designed to map an area we can't see."

"Well, maybe it's time you learned one," Sydney said accusingly.

"Alright!" Ron exclaimed. "Yelling at each other about it isn't going to help anything. Why don't we just figure this out calmly like civilized people. Harry, you've been awfully quiet, what do you think?"

Harry had been staring into the nearby fire and was only startled out of his reverie enough to say, "Dobby."

As could be expected, Sydney promptly asked, "What's a dobby?" and, while Michael didn't actually say anything, he couldn't help but call Harry's sanity into question for uttering such a random word.

Ron and Hermione, despite having the advantage of knowing who Harry was talking about and why, were divided as well. Ron promptly said, "Of course! Why didn't I think of him?" while Hermione said, "Oh no, we can't bring him into this."

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron cried. "Don't start with that spew thing again. He can help us."

"Hasn't he seen enough of the Malfoys for one lifetime," Hermione retorted.

"All we need from him is a map of the place," Harry said. "It's not like we'd ask him to fight or anything."

"Maybe not," Hermione said, "but the fact of the matter is that he's so loyal to you, Harry, that if he thinks you need help he'll give it in whatever way he can. Whether you intend it or not, telling him what we're doing will get him involved."

"What if we don't tell him?" Harry asked.

"How do you intend to do that and still get the information we're looking for?" Hermione replied, crossing her arms.

"I…uh…well," Harry stammered, deferring the question to someone else.

Sydney picked it up, but she didn't seem very happy about it, because she said, "We still don't know who this Dobby is, and once we get this figured out I expect a full explanation. That said, Michael and I could go find him, claiming to be with the Ministry of Magic and say we were assigned to clean out the Malfoy residence. From there we'd tell him we need an accurate map of the place and any potential places where he could have hidden any dark arts supplies, to the best of his knowledge."

"You'd do that?" Ron asked.

"Sure," Michael replied with a shrug. "We do it all the time, it's one of the best ways the CIA gets information."

Even Hermione conceded to the soundness of this plan, so it was agreed that Sydney and Michael would meet Dobby the first chance they got, which, Ron reminded them, was probably as soon as they could, because there was only a few hours until dinner.

"Right, then," Harry said, "before you meet Dobby there's something you need to know."

"What's that?" Sydney asked.

"He's a House Elf," Harry replied.

"What's that?" Michael asked. The Muggle was completely serious, but the repetition of the question caused Ron to chuckle softly.

Several steps ahead of the rest of them, Hermione had managed to locate a small encyclopedia in her room and come back without anyone noticing she'd left. She located a picture of a House Elf and showed it to the Muggles, who tried to hide their surprise; up until that point they had only been vaguely aware of sentient magical species other than Wizards.

Hermione, who had researched all there was to know about House Elves during her S.P.E.W. days, proceeded to give Sydney and Michael more information about the tiny servants than could ever come in useful; their relationships to Wizards, their role in society, and their tendency not to accept pay. It wasn't until she showed signs of beginning a very detailed history of the strange creatures that Harry and Ron jumped in.

"Dobby used to work for the Malfoys," Harry said. "But he's a bit odd of a House Elf and didn't like it there. I managed to free him and now he works in the kitchens here."

"He's not odd," Hermione argued, "he was a slave. The others would do well to follow his example."

"Hermione," Harry said, "we've got a job to do. Can we argue about this later?"

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled.

Harry and Ron finished the explanation with information that was actually helpful, such as how to get to the kitchen, how to tell which elf was Dobby, and the importance of not mentioning that Harry, Ron, or Hermione were involved.

"There's one last thing," Harry said tiredly as Sydney and Michael gathered up parchment and quills. "If Dobby looks like he's going to start hitting himself, stop him."

"Why would he do that?" Sydney asked.

"House Elves are forbidden from speaking ill about their masters," Harry explained. "Dobby doesn't work for the Malfoys anymore, but if he starts criticizing them or revealing secret information then he might start to punish himself anyway."

"And there's no chance that he's seen Sydney and I before?" Michael asked.

"Oh," Hermione sighed, looking downtrodden.

"The House Elves come and clean at night," Ron replied. "It's possible that Dobby has been in here."

"And there's no way of knowing for sure?" Sydney pressed.

"Well, if you go in there and he recognizes you it should be a big hint," Ron said with a shrug.

"Guess so," Sydney said. She put on a strange expression which the wizards had come to recognize as a combination of a smile and a grimace.

"We'll just have to have another story ready then," Michael decided.

With that the Muggles left, leaving a very nervous group of Wizards behind.

--------------

When Sydney and Michael reached the kitchens, they and found themselves surrounded by dozens of tiny House Elves. Nothing the three Wizards had said could have prepared them for the strangeness of the scene, but with the coolness of trained CIA officers, they put their own surprise aside and asked for tea as though they had been dealing with House Elves their entire lives. While the drinks were being prepared, Sydney caught sight of a green shirt among the sea of red pillowcases.

"Dobby?" she called.

"Yes, miss?" Dobby replied, eagerly coming forward, the oddness of his attire now in full view.

"You once worked for the Malfoys, did you not?" Sydney asked.

"Yes, miss," Dobby replied, this time with a hint of disgust in his voice.

"I'm with the Ministry of Magic," Sydney continued. "My associate and I are heading the team that will dismantle Malfoy Manor. Any information that you can give us about the layout of the interior would be greatly appreciated."

"You have been working with Harry Potter?" Dobby asked.

"Only in a limited capacity," Michael cut in. "Mr. Potter and his friends also had very valuable information about the Death Eaters."

"But you are teachers here," Dobby interjected, looking confused.

"That is simply the reason we tell people we tell people when they ask why we are staying here. Most of the people who fought Voldemort are involved with Hogwarts in some way. By living here we can gather information from them without causing suspicion, since we are also hoping to draw out any Death Eaters who may have avoided Azkaban," Sydney explained, hiding her annoyance at the House Elf's ability to see through their story so easily.

A look that the agents couldn't quite read crossed Dobby's face, but he said, "Dobby will tell you whatever you need to know."

--------------

A few hours later, Sydney and Michael returned to their dormitories with several pages of parchment covered in detailed maps of Malfoy Manor and enough snacks to last the group a month.

What they found wasn't promising. Dobby's information was five years old, but it showed a well fortified old manor with few entrances and a multitude of narrow hallways just begging to have traps set up in them.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered.

Everyone else agree with his sentiment, Harry especially. He could hardly form a coherent thought as he stared, aghast at the map, remembering another ill-fated trip through a similar maze in his fourth year.

"What are we going to do then?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, there's a way in," Sydney replied, pulling the map toward her for closer inspection. "There always is, the trick is finding it."

"I guess we couldn't just Apparate in," Ron sighed.

"I'm sure that's about the first thing they thought of defending against," Hermione replied. "Not to mention the fact that they'd probably hear us."

"What about Sydney and Michael?" Harry pointed out. "We can't leave them behind."

"Brooms?" Ron suggested. "Floo Powder?"

"I don't know about brooms," Hermione admitted, "but Floo Powder's out, I'm sure they'd defend any fireplace connected to the network."

"We could go in the front door as long as we're disguised as Death Eaters," Michael said.

No one responded, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn't help but look at him as though he'd just uttered one of the most stupid ideas they'd ever heard. Meanwhile, Sydney was nodding slowly.

"Well it seems to work pretty well for the CIA," Michael replied, noticing the Wizards' looks, "but if you'd rather, we could just go up the front door dressed normally and try to fight it out from there."

The Wizards didn't even bother with a response to that suggestion.

"Well, if you've got another idea," Sydney sighed, pushing the map away.

"Nope," Ron said.

"Nothing," Harry added.

After a slight pause, Hermione let out a timid, "Maybe."

"Let's have it," Sydney said, pushing the map toward her.

"Well, we're assuming that the Death Eaters would guard the fireplace connected to the Floo network, but they wouldn't be expecting anyone to get inside through another fireplace."

"And if they are?" Michael asked.

"Then we'll have to fight our way out I suppose," Hermione replied.

"And how do we get to these fireplaces?" Ron pointed out.

"Fireplaces have chimneys," Hermione explained, "we'll just get up on the roof and climb down them."

"The chimneys are accessible," Sydney said, glancing at the map again.

"We should probably go in small groups," Hermione said. "One or two people in each, more than that and we'll make too much noise."

"That still leaves the problem of going in practically blind to an area that is probably heavily guarded with no easy way of getting out and little or no backup," Michael sighed.

"This is your version of a better plan?" Ron agreed.

"Well, it's better than hoping that we, three teenagers and two Muggles, won't immediately be spotted as imposters when we try to go in under disguise. This could work," Hermione said passionately.

"Besides, there are twenty fireplaces, they can't guard them all," Sydney pointed out.

"There's three floors, we should come in on the first and third, then work our way to the second," Hermione continued. "Chances are Malfoy will be somewhere in the middle, so we can meet up, take him out, and leave."

"At which point we grab our brooms and ride off into the sunset," Ron said, sounding excited.

They stayed up until the early hours of the morning, mapping out the mission and contingency plans.


	11. Nowhere Else to Run

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, sleeping bags, scarves, and ties are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "All These Things That I've Done" by the Killers.

**Chapter 11: Nowhere Else to Run**

The following weeks passed in a blur of fits and starts, as the group waited for an opportunity to put their plan in motion while simultaneously stepping up their preparations. Despite their initial resistance to Michael's idea about entering under disguise, the Muggles managed to convince Harry, Ron, and Hermione of its use, and Hermione charmed some of their clothing so that it looked similar to what the Death Eaters wore, giving them some hope of blending in.

At the Muggle's insistence, they also set about trying to create communication devices. Using the two way mirror that Sirius had given Harry in his fifth year as an inspiration, the group managed to charm three more small mirrors to work in the same way, but they discovered early on that Sydney and Michael couldn't activate them. Even worse, a few experiments with a fourth mirror revealed that sometimes the messages could be intercepted. They nearly abandoned the mirror idea after that, but when four more days of work yielded no better results, they agreed to use the mirrors, but only if it was absolutely necessary.

Harry and Ron spent most of their free time combing the library for any jinxes they didn't know yet or helping Sydney and Michael learn to act more like wizards. One of the more challenging problems they had to overcome was the possibility that Sydney or Michael might be forced to prove their Wizarding skills in a duel. Since it was impossible for them to actually use their wands, Harry and Ron explored the possibility of someone doing it for them vicariously. When pressed, Harry had once been able to use his wand even though it wasn't in his hand, but this had been done under the gravest need and he had never been able to duplicate the effect. Thus, whenever Ron tried to use Michael's wand over a distance he was met with extremely limited success.

Eventually Ron tried attempting to work his own wand remotely; something he hoped would yield more promising results. He could often be found sitting at a table in the substitute teacher's common room, contemplating his wand, which was lying in front of him.

During one such session, Hermione came up, and after studying him for a minute, whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Shh," Ron said quietly.

Hermione sat down on the corner of the table to watch just as Ron said, "Lumos!"

The wand rolled over and off the table, not the effect Ron was hoping for, but an effect nonetheless, which was progress.

"This could work!" Ron exclaimed, after he'd caught his wand and stood up to hug Hermione. However, as soon as she stood up the table made a soft noise of wood against stone. Confused, she touched the corner of the table where she'd been sitting and it moved slightly under the pressure.

"The table has a short leg," Hermione said slowly, as though taking some time before breaking the news would make it easier on Ron.

"So?" Ron asked, his excitement slowly fading away as he observed her.

"So when I sat on it I made the table tip," Hermione replied carefully.

"And that's what made my wand roll?" Ron sighed, sounding horrified.

"Probably."

To be sure, Hermione even laid her own wand on the table and repeated the experiment, achieving the same effect. It was several days before Ron could look upon the upcoming mission with any optimism.

These weeks were tense for everyone, despite their best efforts to stay calm. Even their CIA training didn't do much to help the two agents steady their nerves, because, as Michael put it, "Spying 101 never covered this."

It was a blessing and a curse when a barn owl showed up one late afternoon carrying a rushed extra edition of the Daily Prophet. Harry's heart both leapt then plummeted when he read out the headline: "Group of Suspected Death Eaters spotted in London." The details were sketchy; outskirts of London, wizards in black robes and hoods, unknown number. Apparently a building had been set on fire and Ministry Wizards were dispatched to the scene to try and contain the situation and catch the offenders.

"That's nice how they said it might be Death Eaters," Hermione muttered. "Randell hasn't learned anything from Fudge, has he?"

Politics aside, this was exactly the sort of thing that the group had been waiting for: a time when the number of Death Eaters in Malfoy Manor would be decreased.

"I guess this is it, then," Ron sighed.

Apparently, no more needed to be said. Wordlessly, they went to their rooms for their bags, then outside to the broom shed.

Harry handed Sydney his Firebolt and a map, explaining that it had been enchanted to chart where they moved and guide them to Malfoy Manor. Ron gave a similar device and his broom to Michael. The Wizards saw the Muggles safely off the ground on their unstable brooms then walked to Hogsmeade so they could Disapparate.

---------------

Sydney and Vaughn flew with all the speed they could muster and did not allow themselves breaks, but it was still several hours before they arrived, stiff and frozen, on the roof of Malfoy Manor. After over a month at Hogwarts, they'd thought that they were ready for almost anything, but that didn't stop Sydney from having to stifle a yelp of surprise when she saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing on apparently nothing a few feet above the roof. The Wizards had to explain that they'd charmed an invisible platform so they wouldn't have to risking slipping from the slanted roof and assured Sydney and Michael that it was solid for Muggles as well before they were willing to carefully lower themselves onto it. Even after that, Sydney and Michael often gave nervous glances to their feet, as though they were worried that the invisible surface would suddenly give out from under them.

"Those are our chimneys," Hermione said, pointing out three brick stacks among the many that protruded from the roof.

Sydney took the map and moved closer to make sure, but Hermione grabbed her back a moment later.

"The platform doesn't extend out in that direction."

"Right," Sydney muttered, deliberately choosing an attitude that would belay the rush of fear she'd experienced at the possibility of falling three stories. "I guess I agree, then."

"Is everyone clear on what's going to happen?" Michael asked.

Everyone nodded, so Harry said, "I guess this is it, then, good luck."

Harry's sentiments were echoed all around and the groups split up and made for their respective chimneys.

"I'm not sure you should have brought that," Hermione whispered as she guided Sydney along the invisible platform.

"Brought what?" Sydney asked, fairly certain that she already knew the answer.

"Your gun," Hermione replied.

Sydney's initial reaction was to ask how Hermione had known she'd brought that particular piece of equipment along, but she chose the more practical response instead.

"It's standard procedure to bring a defensive weapon when going into hostile situations."

"You'll have me," Hermione pointed out.

"If I can't fight then why did I come along?" Sydney retorted as Hermione conjured ropes for them.

"I thought you were trained in hand to hand combat," Hermione replied coolly.

"And how much good do you think that's going to be against magic?" Sydney said. "If we get into a situation where I have to use my gun, I promise you, the mission will have already gone badly enough that it won't matter if the Death Eaters know I'm a Muggle."

"Very well," Hermione replied, passing Sydney a rope. "Are you ready?"

"Let's go."

---------------

It was fortunate that the room Harry emerged into was deserted, for his exit from the fireplace was clumsy enough that he would have been of little use to defend himself for nearly thirty seconds, a statistic that wasn't helped at all by the fact that the slide down the narrow chimney had left his robes gathered around his neck.

Once he'd scrambled to his feet and straightened out his robes, Harry lit his wand as brightly as he dared and set about checking the corners of the room for hidden company. On the third corner he saw something human shaped and nearly cursed the thing into oblivion before he realized that it was a Slytherin Quidditch uniform, arranged in a glass case like a trophy. Smirking, Harry made his wand light a bit brighter. He was standing in Draco's room. Dobby's map hadn't mentioned this particular perk. Harry narrowly resisted the urge to break something valuable, but couldn't stop himself from dusting the soot off his robes all over the room. Feeling that their mission was going better than expected already, Harry moved to the door and cracked it open, peering carefully into the hallway.

---------------

Ever since they'd agreed that Ron and Michael would enter Malfoy Manor through the fireplace in the kitchen, Ron had been excited to have a look at the place, something which even Michael's constant reminders that the mission was more important than satisfying curiosity wouldn't deter. Worried that his companion's eagerness might prove troublesome if there were Death Eaters in the room, Michael insisted upon slipping down the chimney and entering the room first. However, the room's only occupant was a tiny, pillowcase clad House Elf who was overseeing the cooling of a batch of tarts and threw herself to her knees immediately upon noticing her company. Michael, who's only experience with House Elves in Hogwarts hadn't gone anything like this, looked to Ron for help. Of course, Ron didn't have much more knowledge of how to deal with House Elves than Michael did, but he wasn't prepared to admit it.

"Could you do us a favor and not tell anyone we were here?"

"Of course, sirs!" she squeaked. "Datty won't tell a soul, sirs."

Ron looked at Michael and shrugged.

"Are you sure she won't tell anyone?" Michael asked.

"No," Ron admitted. "It's strange, though, usually House Elves won't listen to people outside of the family they serve. I wonder what they did to her."

"Should we tie her up?" Michael suggested. "Make sure she can't run off to tell anyone?"

"It wouldn't help," Ron replied. "House Elves have really powerful magic, she'd just break free."

"Oh," Michael sighed.

"Tart?"

Michael gave Ron a "get serious" look and turned to the door.

---------------

Hermione couldn't see Sydney's exit from the fireplace, but knew it had to be far more graceful than anything she was capable of, a fact she managed to prove a moment later when she tripped over the cast iron log holder and landed at Sydney's feet. Hermione cried out in pain, but Sydney quickly muffed it by clasping a hand over the Witch's mouth.

Sydney pulled out a flashlight and ran it over the scene, asking, "What happened?"

Hermione couldn't reply around Sydney's hand but pointed to her leg.

As soon as Sydney pulled Hermione's robes up to her knees the trouble became readily apparent. The offending piece of metal had been kicked clear as Hermione fell, but somewhere in the interim it had left a long gash down Hermione's calf.

"This looks deep," Sydney said, examining the wound. "Maybe you should go back up to the roof."

"No way," Hermione whispered, batting Sydney's hand away and sitting up. "I can fix it."

"Are you sure?" Sydney asked skeptically. "Can you really do Magic on yourself like that?"

"Sure I can," Hermione said huffily, raising her wand. "It just isn't usually a good idea."

"Well you don't need to risk it," Sydney replied.

"I already did," Hermione said. Her voice sounded pained, but not a mark remained as evidence of her injury.

Suddenly, Sydney extinguished her flashlight and forced Hermione back to the ground. Anyone besides Hermione would have demanded an explanation, but the clever Witch was nearly as quick to notice the shadow in the light under the door as Sydney.

No one moved for nearly a minute, then the investigating Death Eater stepped away from the door, apparently satisfied that he hadn't actually heard anything.

"We should go get him," Sydney whispered as the pair stood up.

"Just in case," Hermione agreed.

Sydney pulled the door open and Hermione burst into the hallway. The Death Eater was stunned before he even had the chance to turn around.

---------------

At last, Harry located a staircase and scampered down. His experience in Malfoy Manor had been uneventful, but not for a lack of Death Eaters. Harry had been tempted to thin their ranks a little, but the group had agreed to leave the rest of the Death Eaters alone if possible in favor of getting to Malfoy first, afraid that if too many Death Eaters went missing the others would become aware of their visitors and hoping that if Malfoy were captured the rest of the Death Eaters might surrender. Whenever Harry heard someone coming he'd duck into a side room or pull on his invisibility cloak, but each time it was harder to watch the Death Eaters walk by and do nothing.

However, Harry encountered his first snag at the bottom of the stairs in the form of a door that refused to open. It wouldn't be budged by spell or brute force. Since this was a back stairway he didn't have many options to try, and the three other doorways that connected to this hallway yielded the same results.

Cursing, Harry closed his eyes and tried to think of another path, but it was useless. The only other way to get from the third floor to the second was by the staircase Hermione and Sydney were to take. Now Harry had to use that route too, but not only would it take him time to get there, but it completely undermined their plan for a three sided assault, and he had no good way to tell the others about the modification to the plan without risking telling the Death Eaters about it too.

In desperate need of some way to vent his frustration, Harry raced back up the stairs and stunned the first Death Eater he saw. As he was hiding the unconscious man, two more Death Eaters happened along and attacked him from behind, but Harry managed to gain the upper hand over them as well and when he finally moved on he was in a much better mood.

---------------

Hermione was foraging forward along a hall, slipping stealthily between shadows. She was so intent on her destination that she didn't notice when a Death Eater fell into step behind her. He raised his wand so it was pointed directly at the back of her skull and was about to cast his spell when suddenly the tip of his wand dropped to the floor, cut off by a sharp disk that Sydney had found on a table. What was left of his wand fizzled and backfired, and the Death Eaters collapsed to the ground. Hermione heard this and whirled around, a wave of adrenaline surging through her.

"Wow," she said, suddenly short of breath. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Sydney replied. "If you stay up against a wall or check behind you every few seconds that won't happen."

"Thanks," Hermione said again.

---------------

Ron and Michael darted around a corner and stopped dead. There, strolling leisurely down the hall, was a Death Eater. His surprise at seeing them there was evident, but unlike the other guards they had seen that night, it didn't take him long to recover and take off down a side hallway.

"I'll get him," Ron said, taking pursuit, "you keep going."

Ron caught up with the Death Eater as he was passing through a study, stopping him with a numbing curse to his leg. Ron had expected him to collapse, but instead he merely staggered a little, then spun around on his good leg and raised his wand. They exchanged a flurry of spells, Ron slowly gaining ground as the combination of the Death Eater's injured leg and powerful spells began to wear him out.

Ron was about to deal a final stunning spell when the all too familiar pain of a thousand tiny needles, all white hot and acid covered, stabbed into his arm. He gasped at the pain, but forced himself to drive it to the back of his mind and complete the spell. Just as the spell should have erupted from his wand the pain returned, but this time it seemed to cover his entire body, ten times more powerful than it had been a moment before.

Ron cried out in agony and crumpled to the floor, his wand slipping from his limp hand. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, he could barely think, but the Death Eater was getting away, and he couldn't let that happen.

With that he grabbed his wand with his tingling left hand and performed the spell, another painful wave of energy coursing through him. Through his blurry vision Ron, could see the spell hit the doorframe a few inches from the Death Eater's head. It scattered a few books of a nearby shelf but did nothing to slow the Death Eater down. Ron would have let off a string of swear words had his teeth not been so tightly clenched against the pain.

He felt himself losing consciousness, but fought it off. He forced himself to his feet, left hand holding his wand and deadened right arm to his chest, and practically doubled over, he staggered back to the hallway to catch up with Michael.

When Ron found him, the Muggle was peering around a corner, attempting to determine the best way past the two guards nearby. Ron leaned against the wall and sank down to the floor next to him, shaking uncontrollably.

"I've done a stupid thing," Ron said. His brain felt fuzzy and his tongue numb. Everything seemed to take much longer than usual for him to say.

At first Michael was utterly unconcerned. It seemed a bit immature for Ron to start joking around in the middle of such a serious situation, but he understood that the Wizard was simply attempting to ease the tension. However, one look at Ron's shaking form and pained expression changed all that.

"What happened?" Michael asked. "Did he get you?"

"No," Ron stammered. "I had an attack, worse than ever, I collapsed."

Michael grabbed Ron by the shoulders, but Ron winced with pain, so he let go and said, "Did you get him?"

"No," Ron said again. "No, he got away. I couldn't stop him, I tried, I really did, I missed. They know we're here."

Michael peered back around the corner as Ron was talking. A third Death Eater had joined the other two. They were all looking particularly murderous and glaring in Ron and Michael's direction.

"Sydney!" Michael called, touching his earpiece, but the only reply was static. He hadn't expected it to work, they were too deep inside. "Ron! Use your mirror, we've got to warn them!"

But Ron was making less sense by the second: he was babbling incoherently and nearly oblivious to all around him. "I could have stopped him, I should have…"

Michael reached into Ron's pocket and pulled out the mirror, "Come on, buddy, stick with me, you know I can't make this work, you have to. Just say Harry or Hermione and I'll take it from there."

"I was so stupid! How could I let him escape! Just because of a little pain. Harry's scar hurt him for years on end, but he never let it stop him, most of the time you couldn't even tell…"

That was all Michael needed, as soon as Ron said "Harry" the mirror fogged over then cleared to reveal the inside of Harry's pocket.

"Harry!" Michael called as loudly as he dared. He watched as a hand reached inside the pocket and grabbed the mirror. Harry's face in front of a darkened room filled the mirror.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, lifting his head every few seconds to check for approaching guards.

"You've got to get out of here!" Michael called back. "We've been made. Ron had…well, he called it an attack, and one got away. The Death Eaters will figure out where you are any second."

"Where are you?" Harry asked. "We'll come get you."

"Not a chance," Michael replied. "They're all around us, I can hear, them. If you come rescue us, you'll be captured or worse."

"We're not going to leave you here," Harry cried.

"Harry, I do not want to get wherever we're going and find you there too, just find Sydney and Hermione and get out of here," Michael said. "It's over for us, save yourselves."

"Just tell me where you are!"

Instead of a response, the mirror went blank. Harry's insides were filling with ice, but he forced himself to believe that Michael was right, he couldn't do anything for them now. That didn't stop him from hating every bit of it, though.

Harry could hear footsteps almost at the door, so he opened it suddenly, fired a few spells and the approaching Death Eaters and took off in the direction of Hermione and Sydney, dodging spells as he ran.

"Hermione!" he called into the mirror.

"What!" Hermione called back, obviously in the heat of battle as well.

"Ron and Michael have been captured, we've got to get out of here," Harry replied.

"Why aren't we rescuing them?" Hermione asked, the mirror revealing that she and Sydney were running.

"It's too late, we'll be dead soon if we don't get out of here," Harry yelled.

"Up the chimneys?" Hermione asked skeptically. "There's no time."

"I know," Harry replied. "We're Apparating."

"Apparating?" Hermione demanded. "We might be able to if we can get out on a porch, but what about Sydney?"

"I'll take her," Harry replied.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled, falling into her old schoolgirl know-it-all tone. "You know that's the most dangerous thing a Wizard can do, it almost killed you last time and that was with another Wizard, and he was uncon…"

"I know!" Harry cried, cutting her off.

"You don't know what'll happen if you try this," Hermione argued.

"I've got a pretty good idea what'll happen if I don't," Harry replied. "This is the only way we're going to get out of here."

Harry, Hermione, and Sydney rounded corners on opposite ends of the same hallway and met up in the center.

"There's a deck over here," Hermione called, opening a door and running into the next room.

"Go to the roof, Hermione!" Harry said, the he grabbed Sydney by the arm and started running with her towards the window, saying, "I need you to clear your mind completely, then when I say to, think of the place where we went over the map, every detail you can remember. Imagine yourself actually being there."

"Why, what are you going to do?" Sydney asked.

"I'm going to take you with me when I Apparate," Harry replied.

"Are you sure?" Sydney said. Harry knew she'd been listening in on his and Hermione's argument and found it a bit annoying that she was trying to reopen the debate now.

"No," Harry said, "but there's no other way, and unless you do exactly what I say when I say it we could both end up dead."

Hermione reached the deck and Disapparated with a faint pop.

"Get ready!" Harry called, grabbing Sydney's other arm as they too reached the landing. "Now!"

Just as they would have run off the far edge of the deck they Disapparated with a crack like thunder.

They reappeared on the roof a moment later. Sydney managed to catch her balance, but Harry dropped to his knees, utterly exhausted. Hermione moved to help him sit down and Sydney followed suit, apologizing profusely.

"I'm so sorry, is he all right? I must not have concentrated hard enough."

"No," Hermione corrected her, sitting down next to Harry and pulling him in to lean on her. He looked like he was asleep. "He knew this would happen and was willing to accept the risk. There's nothing you could have done besides what you did. Every spell takes a little bit of energy from its caster, the more complex the spell the more energy it takes. Aside from the inherent risks of Apparating in general, it takes energy, although usually not enough for the Wizard to notice the difference. Taking another person increases the danger and the energy required a hundred fold, which is why only a few

Wizards have ever tried it, and Harry is one of the few Wizards who have actually succeeded."

"It's not going to take them long to figure out where we went," Sydney said, "we need to keep going, can he be moved?"

"Yeah," Hermione replied, "he'll be fine, but he'll have to fly out of here."

Harry wasn't moving much, but was clearly still conscious, so Hermione and Sydney helped him to his feet and guided him to his Firebolt. He nodded his thanks and then took off.

"I know flying a broom is difficult for you," Hermione said, "but if you can, keep an eye on him, make sure he gets back alright."

"Consider it done," Sydney replied, mounting Ron's broom and following Harry into the air.

Hermione watched them fly until she heard footsteps coming up the stairs to the roof, then Disapparated.

---------------

When Harry and Sydney arrived at Hogwarts a few hours later, Hermione was waiting for them by the front doors. Harry was still having trouble standing, but was no longer in an exhausted daze. The solitary hour away from battle had given them all a chance to ponder the events of the evening. Hermione had repeatedly tried to analyze the battle for weaknesses in the Death Eater's strategy, but constantly got hung up whenever she came back to the fact that Ron was now captured or dead, at which point she would invariably lose her train of thought and have to start over. Harry was merely angry, at himself, Malfoy, Voldemort, and the whole situation, or at least as much as he could be, exhausted as he was. Sydney fell between the two, but carefully concealed her emotions. Quietly, they helped Harry up the stairs and into bed.

Sydney was just about to leave Harry's room when he called her back. He looked a little uncomfortable and slowly tossed a shoe between his hands until it slipped out of his limp hand and he didn't bother to retrieve it. "Erm, Michael didn't get a chance to say much to me over the mirrors, but I could tell he was really concerned about you. He cares about you very much."

Just like that, Sydney's calm CIA issue facet crumbled and tears began rolling down her face. "Thank you," she managed to croak out, then a little stronger, "I'd better let you get some rest."

"Wait," Harry called. "Why don't you stay here, Hermione too. I don't think any of us should be alone right now."

"Sounds good," Sydney sighed.


	12. No Time Left to Start Again

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, necklaces, bracelets, and earrings are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "American Pie" by Don McLean.

**Chapter 12: No Time Left to Start Again**

Harry woke slowly, but soon came to wish he hadn't. His head was pounding and achy and it felt like his limbs were covered in lead. Precisely why he felt so hung over was a mystery; he certainly didn't remember getting drunk. He searched his mind for the reason for his condition and at last came up with the previous night's failed mission, Ron and Michael's capture, and his own escape by Apparating with Sydney. Harry buried his head in his pillow, feeling somehow worse than he had a minute ago. It took his dazed mind over a minute to become dimly aware of a loud conversation taking place in the hall outside, but it didn't take nearly as long to determine who the individuals were and why they were fighting.

"Where I'm from, when someone is injured to the point that they would endanger a mission they're taken out of the field!" one exclaimed.

"Well we're not where you're from," the other replied. "We've had to improvise and he's been invaluable, even after he got hurt. We couldn't just ask him to stay behind, could we?"

"Yes, invaluable," the first spat. "Because of him, he and Michael are captured."

Harry decided that he had better stop them before they said something they would regret later. Sydney had already slipped back into her normal accent and both had come close to directly mentioning the CIA. While their rooms might be somewhat removed from the rest of the castle, he wasn't willing to assume that there couldn't be anyone standing near the picture of Bertie Bott, listening to them.

He sat up and instantly regretted it as the blood rushed painfully from his head, then put on his glasses and made his way gingerly to the door. His legs seemed reluctant to do his bidding, so he staggered into the hallway and leaned against the nearest wall. The two women stopped arguing immediately upon seeing him.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, coming over to him. "You should be resting."

"It's the middle of the afternoon," Harry informed her, squinting at a nearby window.

"But you need time to recover from yesterday," Hermione said.

"You guys were yelling kind of loud," Harry said groggily, trying to change the subject.

Hermione, however, missed the hint and said, "Oh, we woke you up, sorry."

They had, now that Harry thought about it, but that wasn't what he was getting at. "It's not that," Harry explained. "We're trying to work in secret here. Anyone could walk by and hear something about the CIA or Sydney talking in an American accent and I don't need to remind you that not everyone at Hogwarts can be trusted."

"We were just trying to decide how to fix what happened," Hermione said glumly, fiddling with her wand.

"Very constructive," Harry sighed. "Look, we're going to bring down Malfoy and the rest of the Death Eaters and rescue Ron and Michael." Harry paused to watch both Hermione and Sydney light up. "But they know we're on to them now and we're down by two people. We won't be able to pull this off without Sydney's help, and she can't stay with us if her cover is blown."

The two women shrugged uncomfortably.

"No one is to blame for this except for the Death Eaters, but especially not Ron. We need to be able to work together, but if you must blame someone here, blame me; not rescuing them was my decision."

However much Hermione and Sydney may have wanted to argue with him, there was no denying his logic, and any further discussion would have only been for the sake of their own anger, a luxury they could not afford. Instead, they nodded sheepishly and dropped their glances to the floor.

"There's another thing we have to do," Harry said suddenly a few moments later, drawing the women out of their thoughts. "We have to leave Hogwarts, now."

Hermione and Sydney once again looked ready to argue, but reason set in first. Despite the protection and resources it offered, staying at Hogwarts would only be a liability in the long run, what with the hundreds of innocent students that would be at risk if the Death Eaters decided to take the fight to Hogwarts again.

"We shouldn't leave any evidence that we were ever here," Sydney informed them.

"That might not be so easy," Hermione said. "Getting rid of our stuff will be simple enough, but we haven't exactly been quiet about our presence here. Any student could have parents who are still loyal to the Death Eaters, they'd just have to make the connection. It's not like we can modify everyone's memories."

"Then we'll jut have to hope that they'll also realize that we're not here anymore before they go tell their parents," Harry said. When he noticed Hermione's skeptical look he added, "And we'll put the teachers on alert." Sydney joined Hermione, giving Harry a similar scowl, so he said, "I'm listening for any better ideas."

Both shrugged, but Hermione said, "If they decide to come looking for us at Hogwarts, Hogsmeade will be a close second. We don't seem to have many other good places to hide from other Wizards, but I'll try and think of somewhere."

"So, we pack, let McGonagall know what's going on, then leave and go wherever we're going," Harry confirmed.

"There's one other thing we need to consider," Sydney said carefully. "The two of you and Ron worked together against Voldemort?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed, sensing that Sydney was about to say something he didn't want to hear. She often started conversations like this by pointing out the obvious to back up her argument.

"Then it wouldn't be much of a leap for the Death Eaters to assume that you were involved after they caught Ron?"

"What are you getting at?" Hermione asked.

"Look," Sydney started. "I've been in this business a long time and if these guys are anything like the usual breed, they are not above going after those you know for information or leverage against you. I'm assuming you both have families that would be at risk."

"The Dursleys?" Harry laughed. "The Death Eaters can have them; it'd serve them right…"

"Harry!" Hermione snapped, cutting him off.

"All right, I'll send them an owl," Harry sighed.

Hermione sighed, knowing Harry was choosing the magical way of sending letters to spite his surrogate family, but she agreed to the compromise anyway. "I can call my parents once we get away from Hogwarts."

"You can borrow my cell phone," Sydney offered. "You too, Harry."

"Oh no," Harry cried suddenly.

"What?" Hermione yelped, an illogical panic rising within her.

"We have to tell the Weasleys," Harry said desperately.

"Is that all?" Hermione said happily, trying to force the adrenaline in her system back where it came from.

"You weren't there to see them when they thought Ginny was dead, or when Mr. Weasley was attacked by the snake," Harry pointed out.

"No, I wasn't, but I know they will listen to you," Hermione replied.

"They're like my family, but I have to keep giving them bad news. Some friend I am," Harry sighed. "If they don't hate me already, they will after this."

"I never got the impression that they disliked you when we were staying over this summer," Hermione pointed out.

"Sure, they acted polite, they had to," Harry said. "They blame me for what happened. Ron does too."

"They don't," Hermione exclaimed.

"They should!" Harry replied, equally as forcefully.

"Don't project your guilt, or whatever it is, onto them," Hermione replied. "Ginny should be getting out of Charms about now, will you go talk to her, or shall I?"

"We shouldn't tell her, it'd mess up her head," Harry said glumly. "She's got N.E.W.T.s to study for."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you care more about tests than I do," Hermione said. She sounded impressed. "Ginny's a lot tougher than you're giving her credit for."

"She saw enough of this when Voldemort was still around," Harry replied. "She doesn't deserve to be put through that again."

"So you'd rather lie to her?" Hermione demanded.

"No, I'd rather leave her out of it," Harry said.

"I believe I said the same thing about Dobby, and the help he gave us was invaluable," Hermione said.

"That's up for debate," Harry sighed.

"It was our plan, not his information, that was flawed," Hermione exclaimed. "She's going to find out eventually, Harry. Wouldn't it be better for her to hear it from us?"

"I guess," Harry admitted.

"Great, if we hurry we can meet her outside of the Charms classroom," Hermione said, making to leave.

"Wait," Harry said, pulling her back. "I think I should go alone."

"How do you figure?" Hermione asked.

"It'll be less intimidating if there's only one of us," Harry started.

"Under that line of thinking, shouldn't I be the one to go?" Hermione asked. "I am one of her best friends."

"Hermione," Harry stated flatly, giving her a significant look.

"Awful brave for someone who was afraid to go talk to her a few minutes ago," Hermione quipped. When Harry gave her a pleading look she finally conceded. "Alright, you go. I'll go talk to McGonagall then help pack."

"Don't forget to tell her about Ron and Michael," Harry reminded her.

"Don't forget to be gentle," Hermione returned. "And leave Pig with her."

"You've got it."

"You too."

-------------------

Harry stood near the portrait of the Fat Lady, nervously searching the few passing students for Ginny. He'd been caught by a group of fifth years on their way between classes, seeking advice on their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L, and Harry hadn't managed to get away fast enough to find Ginny anywhere in the vicinity of the Charms classroom. Even though it was the usual practice for students to return to their dormitories after their classes, Ginny could have gone anywhere, the library, a professor's office, the Great Hall, the Quidditch pitch, anywhere. Harry had started looking for other Gryffindors he knew who might be able to tell him Ginny's whereabouts when she showed up, surrounded by a small group of friends who were all laughing hysterically at some joke. Harry managed to catch her eye and she promptly excused herself and came over.

"Hi!" she said happily. She looked as though she'd intended to say something more, but she had stopped herself and now looked a little uncomfortable.

It took him a moment to discover the nature of her dilemma, but her got there eventually, and said, "You can call me Harry now, I'm not your teacher anymore."

She brightened up immediately and replied, "Great. You have no idea how difficult it is to remember to call you Professor Potter in class."

"Probably about as hard as it is for me to remember to answer to it," Harry said with a shrug.

"So, Harry." She emphasized his name as though to reinforce the notion that she was once again allowed to use it. "What's up?"

This time it was Harry's turn to look uncomfortable. "Is there somewhere we can sit down and talk awhile?"

"The Gryffindor common room is right through that portrait," Ginny replied brightly. "It's usually pretty empty this time of day."

"Sounds good," Harry said.

Ginny turned to the Fat Lady and said, "Calamity!"

"Bit of an odd password," Harry pointed out as they climbed through the portrait hole.

"I know," Ginny replied. "She's been stuck on words like that since, you know…"

Harry did know, a bit better than he might have liked at the moment. As he jumped down from the hole and straightened up, the first thing he noticed was _the myriad of faces staring up at him with looks ranging from utter terror to strangled relief. The one thing they all had in common was panic, and it seemed to paralyze each and every one of them in a way no full body bind curse could. A sudden flash of lightning lit up the dark and rainy sky and a thunder clap sounded a moment later. A few students jumped at the noise but the rest seemed beyond even that. Luckily, someone had the faculty of mind to set up barricades around the fireplace and portrait hole, the latter of which Harry nearly tripped over. However, neither position was being defended. As Harry looked at his peers, all thoughts of getting the Marauder's Map quickly then leaving were banished from his mind. He couldn't leave them like this._

_Ginny was the first among the huddled mass to recover and step forward._

"_What's happening?" she asked desperately, clearly trying to subdue her panic. "McGonagall announced that we should lock ourselves in our houses as quickly as possible, but that was over an hour ago, we haven't heard anything else since."_

"_Voldemort's attacking Hogwarts," Harry replied quietly as Neville, Seamus, and Dean came up to hear what Harry had to say. "He's somewhere in the castle. The Order, the Aurors, Ron, Hermione, and I are looking for him, but the Death Eaters are giving us trouble."_

"_Why would You-Know-Who come here?" Neville asked. "Is he looking for something?"_

"_Yes," Harry sighed. He hadn't wanted to divulge this particular bit of information to Ron and Hermione nearly two years ago and hadn't told anyone else since, so no one here knew about the prophecy, and there was insufficient time to explain it now. "We think he's looking for me."_

"_Why you?" Seamus asked predictably._

"_That's complicated," Harry replied. "The point is that I can't stay here much longer without putting you all in danger." He raised his voice now and addressed the entire group._

"_Listen up. You all deserve to know that Hogwarts is currently being attacked by some very bad wizards." He winced at his own dismal euphemism and observed similar sentiments in the older students. "Does anyone have any Floo Powder?"_

_Several people brightened up at the possibility, but they were denied this simple solution; strictly speaking, students weren't allowed their own Floo Powder, and they weren't lucky enough to have someone in their midst who had broken that rule._

"_Alright," Harry sighed. "The Fat Lady should be able to stop anyone who shouldn't be in here, but we have to make sure this place can be well defended, just in case. It would be best if first, second, and third years go lock themselves in the dormitories, the girls' side if the boys can make it up there, since the staircase will slow down most of the Death Eaters. Should anything go wrong up there, third years, you'll be in charge of defending the younger students. Everyone else, it's your task to make sure they don't have to by stopping any intruders before they have a chance to get upstairs. Should it come down to it, Fred and George's fireworks make an excellent distraction. There's a stash of them in the seventh year boys' dormitory."_

_Harry had expected his peers to act on his suggestions right away. After all, they made sense and were for the greater good, but in general they seemed more petrified than when he first came in. Harry sighed, knowing only one way to bolster them._

"_Come on you lot. We're Gryffindors, famed for our bravery. Each and every one of you was put into this house for a reason. The Sorting Hat saw courage in you, live up to it! Tonight we are all in danger, and tonight we may all be called upon in this battle. I know you're afraid, I know you don't want to fight, but if it comes down to it, you will have the choice to give up or to strike back. You can't give up. Together, you can face anything that comes through that portrait; all you need is to be ready for it."_

_Harry paused, unsure of what to say next. An uncomfortable silence ensued until someone asked, "What about the students in other houses?"_

_Harry couldn't resist a smile, that was much more like it, even though the answer was difficult._

"_Unfortunately, without their passwords there's nothing I can do for them, but if I see anyone I'll remind them to check on their houses. Now then, first, second, and third years upstairs, everyone else down here. DA members should stay in charge here…" he noticed the several dirty looks he was getting and struggled with himself momentarily before relenting and added, "…or, if you're willing, you can come out and help."_

_Harry watched gratefully as his peers began organizing themselves according to his suggestions and could hardly suppress a wave of pride and gratitude as every member of the DA present who was in his house moved to join him at the foot of the portrait hole. He was happy that he'd managed to warn the Creevey brothers, Lavender, and Parvati to stay away while they were still in Hogsmeade, but couldn't help thinking that a few extra people would be very helpful in the ensuing battle._

"_We're with you, Harry," Ginny said from next to him._

"Harry? Harry!"

Harry blinked and squinted at the sudden change in light. It took a moment for his befuddled sensed to realize what had just happened.

"You alright?" Ginny asked, her hand on his elbow and sending sparks up his arm. "You blanked out for a minute."

"Yeah, fine, thanks, sorry," Harry stammered, still trying to compose himself. "I guess I was daydreaming or something."

Or something…

"About anything in particular?" Ginny pressed.

"No," Harry replied stiffly, thoroughly undermining any of Ginny's impending questions.

"Oh," she sighed. "You wanted to tell me something?"

"Yeah," Harry said uncomfortably. "We should probably sit down."

Ginny moved to the sofa near the fireplace and Harry took the chair next to her.

"So, what's this about?" Ginny asked.

Harry searched the carpet a moment for inspiration and, finding none, tried the empty fireplace, the window, and the ceiling. It wasn't until he finally caught Ginny's eye in a final desperate gambit that he finally found the words to say.

"Have you figured out that Hermione, Ron, a few others, and I are trying to fight the remaining Death Eaters?" he started, realizing only after he'd finished just how lame his statement sounded.

"Sure," Ginny replied with a shrug. Harry's look of surprise must have been even more obvious than he thought it was, because she elaborated. "Five different replacement teachers in training showing up at the same time was kind of a red flag, especially since I knew you three were supposed to be working for the Ministry. Between Ron and Hermione I got a pretty good idea of what's been going on."

"Figures," Harry muttered none too quietly, but Ginny merely looked proud of herself.

"So why are you telling me all this now?" Ginny asked.

Harry had been dreading this question, and now suddenly found his prepared answer woefully inadequate.

"Last night we tried to go in and take them down," Harry began. He'd expected some sort of response from Ginny, but she simply sat there, waiting for him to continue. "It all went bad, they found out we were there. We barely made it out, but Ron didn't."

Harry paused again, unsure of where to go from there. Instead, he watched Ginny's reaction, and the change was sudden and dramatic, she pulled her knees protectively to her chest and hugged her legs, resembling nothing so much as her eleven year old self when she wanted nothing as much as to explain everything she knew about Tom Riddle's diary but was mortally afraid to do so. Harry desperately wanted to move next to her, take her up in his arms, and make her feel better, but he forced himself to keep his seat.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Ginny asked. "Don't lie."

"No, not really," Harry admitted.

"But he's more valuable to them alive than dead," Ginny suggested hopefully.

"We know," Harry replied. "We hope he's just being held prisoner."

"I want to help you find him," Ginny said.

"Ginny, you've got schoolwork, and the N.E.W.T.s to prepare for," Harry pointed out.

"Damn the N.E.W.T.s!" Ginny exploded. She jumped to her feet and started pacing angrily in front of the fireplace even though tears were coursing down her cheeks. "He's my brother and I'm not going to stand by while I could be doing something to help him. You know he'd do the same for me."

"True," Harry relented, casting a wary look around the room. There weren't many people in the Common Room, but most of them seemed to be listening in on their conversation now. "Alright, the trouble is, they know we're after them now, so we have to lie very low. We're leaving Hogwarts and it'll draw too much attention if you come too, but I promise we'll contact you before we do anything. And Pig can stay here with you, in case you need to write to us."

"Fair enough," Ginny sighed, sitting back down and burying her head in her hands.

"You alright?" Harry asked gently, unable to stand seeing her like this any longer and moving so he was next to her on the sofa.

"Fine," was the muffled response. "Could you just stay here a minute?"

"Sure," Harry replied before he really thought about the implications of the request, but before long he was quite unsure of what to do with himself. He'd forced himself to give up Ginny over a year ago, and he couldn't allow himself to privilege of going back to her while he still had battles to fight. Uncomfortably, Harry placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand upon her back, which he soon discovered may have been a bit too much so, as Ginny immediately leaned over so that her head was resting on his shoulder and chest.

"Where are you going to go?" Ginny asked a few minutes later.

"We're not sure," Harry admitted. "Hermione was trying to come up with a place they wouldn't expect us to go."

"You could go to the Burrow," Ginny suggested, sitting up. "Or, or…" She trailed off, looking downcast. Whether she'd stopped herself for her own benefit or for his, Harry was grateful for it, because there was no doubt that she had been about to suggest number 12 Grimmauld Place, which would make an ideal hiding place due to the charms placed upon it, but the place held far too many memories of battles long fought and people long dead. On top of all that, since Dumbledore, the mansion's only secret keeper, was now dead, it would be impossible for Sydney to take refuge there anyway.

A long and uncomfortable silence ensued and wasn't broken until Ginny said, "So my parents would love to have you as a guest."

"Thanks, Ginny," Harry started, fidgeting with his wand as he tried to come up with a sufficient excuse. "I really couldn't do that to them. We're leaving here so the Death Eaters won't attack Hogwarts. I can't put your parents in a similar amount of danger." That, of course, was neither the whole nor the primary reason, the Weasleys had been members of the Order, after all, and weren't likely to shy away from impending battle. However, Harry was counting himself very lucky that Ginny had yet to bite his head off, and suspected that a similar encounter with Mrs. Weasley would result in a much narrower escape.

"Suit yourself," Ginny said with a shrug as she sat up.

"Alright," Harry replied, giving her hand a squeeze and getting up to leave. "Take care of yourself."

-------------------

As was frequently the case, Sydney had managed to get herself lost inside Hogwarts. This came as a great source of annoyance to her since she was usually an excellent navigator, although, in her defense, her sense of direction wasn't accustomed to a place that occasionally reconfigured itself without warning.

She'd volunteered to fetch Hedwig from the owlery while Harry and Hermione were busy with other tasks, but she was beginning to regret her generosity, for she was coming to realize that even if she found the place, she didn't know the first thing about handling owls.

Sydney's destination was a tower on the west end of the castle, but she'd gotten turned around when she discovered that the staircases weren't arranged in the configuration she was used to. She'd tried an alternate route, but now she suspected that she was closer to the north wing, and all the hallways that lead in the correct direction were dead ends.

When the hallway ended in two forks that both lead the wrong way, one up a spiral staircase and the other to the east, Sydney turned around to double back, but before she even took a step someone behind her said, "Running away are you? Hah! You can't even stand to clamp eyes on one so fierce."

Sydney whirled around, intending to tell off whatever student had snuck up on her, but the hallway was clear. Then the same someone called, "Much better, I prefer a proper fight!"

Sydney had heard many tales of Peeves, but hadn't had the misfortune of meeting him since he tended to avoid taunting teachers. Suspecting that he might be the one speaking to her, she called, "Show yourself, Peeves."

"Peeves, that scurvy cad, is he here?" came the reply. "I'll fight the both of you with one hand tied behind my back, I will."

If Peeves wasn't the source of the disturbance, then it seemed a picture was the only remaining suspect, but she'd never seen one that was quite so boisterous. In fact, most of the portraits around her looked equally annoyed at the raucous their neighbor was causing. One even pointed Sydney in the direction of the offending picture.

The culprit worked out to be a short knight, dressed in full armor, who was unsteadily shaking a long sword at her while he continued to shout insults. He seemed liable to attack anything that moved too quickly and nearly decapitated his own horse when it foolishly came up behind him.

The knight's strange behavior rang several bells in Sydney's head, all of them relating to the Rambaldi poem:

_If mysteries you wish to sight  
Seek the one too quick to fight_

This man certainly fit the description.

He kept up his challenge until Sydney was close enough for him to distinguish through his slated helmet. Suddenly, he fell silent and dropped to his knees.

At first Sydney thought that he'd exhausted himself and could no longer bear the weight of his own armor, then awestruck, he said, "The Chosen One!"

At first, Sydney thought he might have been referring to Harry. That was, after all, one of the titles he'd managed to pick up over the years. She had to reverse her guess when the knight, quite lucidly, said, "You've come for it then?"

This didn't compute at all if 'the Chosen One' was assumed to refer to Harry, so it seemed likely that the knight was referring to the chosen one of Rambaldi's prophecy. This individual was depicted in one of Rambaldi's notebooks, a drawing that looked remarkably like Sydney, but she'd proven that she wasn't this chosen one by directly contradicting part of the associated prophecy. This knight was apparently only basing his assessment on the picture, but Sydney was willing to let the delusion persist if it meant the knight would bring her closer to finding more of Rambaldi's works.

"Yes," Sydney replied, wishing he'd been more specific about what 'it' was.

"Then there is something you must see," the knight said, and he promptly ran off the edge of his picture.

Initially, Sydney wasn't sure what to do, but then she spotted him in the next picture over and promptly gave chase. She lost track of him several times, but always managed to find him again as he took to shouting such things as, "Hurry, the quest awaits!" or "Stand aside you ruffians!" at random intervals.

Finally, the knight stopped near a large door and said, "I can lead you no further. There are no pictures within."

"Isn't it locked?" Sydney asked. There was no keyhole, but that didn't mean it wasn't sealed shut somehow.

"It will open for the Chosen One," the knight replied.

"Right," Sydney sighed. That was going to be a problem, seeing as she wasn't really the Chosen One, but the knight was watching expectantly, so she reached out and grabbed the doorknob. Much to her simultaneous excitement and chagrin, the knob turned and the door slid open.

"This is where I leave you," the knight said, "but if you ever have need of me, simply shout, and I, Sir Cadogan, will be at your side immediately."

Sydney thanked the strange knight and turned her attention to the interior of the room.

In the middle sat a spindly metal structure surrounded by random objects like fans, tubes, and wheels. Sydney swore when she realized she was looking at a three dimensional puzzle. It had taken her weeks to stumble upon the answer to the riddle in the Rambaldi box, so a puzzle of this magnitude was likely to take months.

Ordinarily, she would have preferred to spend as much time as she could getting started on this puzzle, but not only was time of the essence, but she also had even less of a chance of finding the owlery now than before she met Sir Cadogan. Instead, she toured the room, committing it all to memory so she could work on the puzzle mentally when she got the chance.

With a sigh, she located the strange knight again and had to endure five minutes of him accusing her of abandoning the quest before she could convince him that she'd already been on a quest and that the other one would have to wait. In the end he reluctantly led her to the owlery.

-------------------

"How did she take it?" Hermione asked when Harry arrived back at the dormitories.

"Better than I expected," Harry admitted, surveying Hermione and Sydney's handiwork. He had to hand it to them. They'd managed to cram everything back into its original trunk or bag, including the mess in his, Ron, and Michael's room.

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say something, then reconsidered, but opened her mouth to speak again a moment later, a clear battle taking place between the part of her that wanted to give Harry and "I told you so" and the part that thought it would be a bad idea.

Harry decided to help out the side he favored by changing the subject.

"So, where're we going?"

"Back to the Muggle world," Sydney replied, coming up to join the conversation and handing Hedwig off to Harry. The owl looked distinctly ruffled and there were several long scratches on Sydney's arm

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that idea. He looked to Hermione, expecting to find evidence that Sydney had finally decided to experiment with some long lost sense of humor. However, Hermione was nodding in agreement as she took Sydney's arm and healed the scratches.

"Erm, where?" Harry stammered.

"Wiltshire specifically," Hermione said. "There we'll hopefully be close enough to Malfoy Manor to watch their movements, but far enough away that we won't be spotted and arouse more suspicion."

"And the part about living in the Muggle world?" Harry prompted.

"Malfoy Manor is the only magical establishment on record in that area of Wiltshire," Hermione replied smartly. "We wouldn't have a choice. Not to mention that we still don't know who in the magical world we can trust."

"There's actually the same problem in the Muggle world," Sydney pointed out, "but Muggles won't be looking for us."

"And the Death Eaters probably wouldn't think to look for us there," Hermione added.

"Unless they figure out that Michael is a Muggle," Harry sighed.

There was a sudden and dramatic change in mood.

"Are you implying that Michael would willingly give up information like that?" Sydney demanded.

"No, I…"

"Ron would do everything he could to make sure that stayed a secret!" Hermione added, just as forcefully.

"Hermione, you know I…"

"Michael's been trained to handle torture, he can take a hit," Sydney said.

"It's not the hits I'm worried about," Harry sighed. It was a moment before he realized that the two women had actually let him get an entire thought in edgewise.

Sydney still looked angry, but thankfully not particularly livid any more. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking a little sheepish and said quietly, "He's right, the Death Eaters have much more effective ways of getting information."

"Legilimens, for example," Harry said.

"Malfoy knows Legilimens?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised, Draco seemed to in our sixth year."

"I guess your right," Hermione replied, although the thought seemed to disturb her a bit more than Harry thought it ought to.

"Legilimens?" Sydney asked.

"Mind reading," Harry clarified.

"Oh," Sydney said, looking slightly aghast. "That could be a problem."

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. "So, to Muggle England?"

"Maybe it's a good thing that Ron isn't here," Harry pointed out.

Hermione smiled weakly as she pointed her wand at half of their bags and trunks, which rose a few inches off the ground and began floating down the hall under her direction.

-------------------

Michael was awake for a few moments before he managed the courage to open his eyes. He wasn't sure what woke him in the first place, but he suspected the pounding headache that was currently dulling all his other senses, no doubt the souvenir of being so brutally rendered unconscious. When he finally cracked open his eyes he discovered that his fears were not unfounded, the sudden light did nothing to soothe his headache. Michael made to cover his eyes with his hands until he could block out the pain, but the attempt was hindered by the fact that his wrists were bound behind his back. With a groan, Michael worked himself up into a sitting position, scowling as he realized that his ankles were bound together as well, and surveyed the room through squinting eyes. Ron was nearby, lying on his stomach off to Michael's left, apparently still unconscious, bound the same way as Michael. The only piece of good news was the fact that there was no guard in their room.

Light was streaming in through a large window. It took a moment for this particular point to strike Michael's befuddled brain as odd, a relatively large library such as this one made an unlikely prison, especially considering the exposed window, but all of this would make a rescue attempt easier, so he wasn't complaining. The triumph was short-lived, however, as Dobby's detailed maps of the establishment had shown only one library in the manor, and it was deep inside the building. Either they had been moved somewhere else, the mansion had undergone considerable redecorating, or there was some kind of charm on the window, and none of those options seemed to make a rescue plan any easier.

Michael turned his attention to Ron, who had yet to move, and made his way over to the wizard's unconscious form, then prodded him gently in the shoulder with his bound feet. In the fastest recovery Michael had ever seen, Ron woke up, cried out in pain, and rolled onto his knees in the space of about half a second. From there, Ron adopted a stance that told Michael in no uncertain terms that he would have been cradling his right arm if it was not tied behind his back. Michael realized too late that this was also the arm that was subject to the sudden pain that had landed them in captivity in the first place and the one which he had just poked with his foot.

Ron looked perfectly alright, aside from the fact that his arm seemed to be causing so much pain that he looked like he wanted nothing more than to pass out again, leaving Michael to wish that he'd just waited for the Wizard to wake up on his own.

"Sorry," Michael said lamely after allowing Ron a few minutes to recover.

"'S not your fault," Ron replied through clenched teeth.

Michael was fairly certain that Ron's current discomfort was, in fact, his fault, but replayed the sequence of events in his head just in case and came to the same conclusion. He was about to tell Ron this when the Wizard said dully, "I'm the one who should be apologizing, it's my fault we're here."

Michael was, once again, fairly certain that this was not the case and once again considered telling Ron so, but it seemed to him that Ron was determined to wallow in his own guilt for the time being and anything Michael said to try and bring him out of it would be a waste of time. He opted for a different approach.

"These feel like pretty weak ropes for people as powerful as wizards," Michael said, gesturing to the bonds around his legs. "I think I could get out of them if I tried."

"Don't be so sure," Ron said weakly. "They'll be unbreakable, and if you struggle they get tighter."

"Oh, thanks," Michael replied.

"Do you think the others made it out?" Ron asked warily.

"They'd probably be in here with us if they didn't," Michael pointed out.

"Oh," Ron sighed, gazing nervously around the room. "What do you think the Death Eaters will do with us?"

"I'm not sure," Michael replied honestly. "They'll probably ask for information, or they might just be…" Michael trailed off, unwilling to speak the other possibility aloud.

"They'll probably torture us," Ron inferred desperately. "I've never been hit with the Cruciatus curse, but Harry says it feels like every nerve in your body is set on fire. Then there's the Imperious curse, they can make you do whatever they want, but…but it can be fought. You have to force yourself not to do what they're telling you…"

Michael noticed Ron's increasingly terrified expression and changed tracks, "They might just be keeping us here to make sure we can't keep fighting against them."

"Alright, that doesn't sound so bad," Ron replied, but his voice was shaking.

"No, not really," Michael agreed quietly.

For a moment it looked as though any further attempts at conversation would be shot down into similar annoying silences, but Michael finally asked, "Do you want to play a game?"

"What?" Ron said, craning his neck to try and look out the window. "Is this really the time?"

"Sure," Michael said with a shrug. "We've got nothing else to do, and it's not everyday you're captured along with someone else and given the chance to actually talk to them. We might as well take advantage of it."

"I guess," Ron said, trying to settle into a more comfortable position but mostly failing. "How's it go?"

"We have to talk to each other entirely in questions," Michael explained. "Anyone who manages to get the other person to answer without a question, repeat what they just said, change the subject, or make an unintelligible noise gets a point."

"Right," Ron replied. "Why don't you start?"

"Alright," Michael said, and in the time it would have taken him to come up with a question, Ron jumped in and said, "Point for me."

Michael dropped his chin to his chest, the closest motion to a curse he could muster bound by the ropes and the rules of the game. Ron was completely right, of course, but Michael hadn't expected to be taken so completely by surprise right from the start. He gathered himself together and asked, "Do you have the time?"

"Don't you have a watch?" Ron replied.

"Does it look like I have a watch?" Michael said.

"Then why would you think I have mine?" Ron asked.

"What if they overlooked your watch when they took mine?" Michael pointed out.

"Does it look like I could see my watch better than you could see my watch?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Should it?" Michael said with a shrug.

"I already told you about these ropes," Ron said before he could catch himself.

"Not a question, one all," Michael said.

"How many sickles in a galleon?" Ron asked.

"What?" Michael asked.

"Is saying what allowed?" Ron replied.

"Did I saw it wasn't?" Michael countered.

"Did you?" Ron shrugged.

"Why should I know?" Michael asked.

"Weren't you the one who came up with these rules?" Ron pointed out.

"Not originally," Michael said, then realized that he'd been lead into a trap. "Rats, your point."

"Are we still playing?" Ron asked.

"Yes," Michael replied.

"Three to one, my lead," Ron said smartly.

"Why are you so good at this?" Michael asked.

"Why are you so bad at this?" Ron countered.

"Why should I be good at it?" Michael asked.

"Didn't you suggest this game?" Ron replied.

"Why haven't you answered my question?" Michael asked.

"Why haven't you answered mine?" Ron replied.

"Was that repetition?"

"Did I say exactly what you said?"

"Didn't you?"

"Is it just you or are all Muggles this simple to beat?"

"Easy," Michael warned him.

"Four to one," Ron replied happily.

"Best five hundred and one out of a thousand?"

"Are we really gonna be here that long?"

"Apparently, it'll take me that long to catch up."

"Five to one."

"Damn."

"Six to one."


	13. Rain Like Hell

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, bookends, plaques, and cookie jars are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Broadway" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

**Chapter 13: Rain like Hell**

"Didn't McGonagall say that Grubbly-Plank could have a carriage ready for us within five minutes?" Harry asked as he walked across the Hogwarts grounds with Hermione and Sydney, his own trunk and Ron's floating in front of him. Much to his own annoyance, they seemed to have grown brains and opinions on which way to go since the last time he checked, and he was having some trouble controlling them. Not that he hadn't expected it; when he'd Apparated with another person before, his magical abilities had declined slightly as well, although it hadn't taken him this long to recover.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed from up ahead. Harry noticed that her trunks were behaving themselves perfectly, even though she was responsible for three.

"I'm just saying, it's three kilometers to Hogsmeade by this route, why are we walking?" Harry said.

"I don't see what you're complaining about, leaving Hogwarts was your idea," Hermione replied smartly.

"I'm not complaining," Harry said as he narrowly sidestepped his trunk, which had just decided that tripping him would be a marvelous way of asserting its independence. "I just don't see why we're not taking the easy way out of this one."

"The point is to disappear," Sydney explained. "The simplest forms of transportation are the least easy to notice."

"Just as long as we don't have to walk all the way to Wiltshire," Harry muttered.

"After we get to the forest, I'll hide the trunks and we'll stay under cover until we're as close as we can get to Hogsmeade, then head for the train station."

"Into the forest, you say," Harry sighed. "You do realize that there are some rather unfriendly animals in there."

"Hagrid would say they're all just misunderstood," Hermione pointed out.

Harry would have reminded her that she'd always been just as skeptical of Hagrid's appraisal of his pets as anyone, except that he didn't have the heart to criticize Hagrid and at that moment his trunk forged ahead with sufficient speed to knock the unsuspecting Hermione off her feet. Harry only managed to head it off by the narrowest of margins. He spent a moment searching for another way to discourage their entering the forest, and settled upon pointing out that, "The centaurs aren't going to be very happy to see us, and I don't think they'll buy the young and innocent excuse anymore."

"They probably won't mind too much if we stay close to the edge of the forest," Hermione sighed. "If you've got a better idea…"

"No, no," Harry replied, deciding to stop arguing before Hermione or Sydney decided that they should get to Hogsmeade via the bottom of the lake instead, or that traveling to London by train would be far too indiscrete.

Hermione transfigured the trunks into rocks when they reached the tree line, and with that finished, the group shouldered their packs, grabbed up the caged and crated Hedwig and Crookshanks, and set off in the direction of Hogsmeade.

Harry was rather uncomfortable with the prospect of venturing into the forest, even if they were to stay along the edge. He'd entered into the dark mass of trees many times since he'd started at Hogwarts, but rarely managed to leave the place on especially good terms. The last time had been no exception. Harry didn't think the creatures in the forest were likely to forgive him for that incident for as long as they could remember, and most of them had very long memories.

Harry was grateful to see that Hermione hadn't dropped her guard even though it was she who thought that they were safer traveling the perimeter of the forest. As it was, she had her wand dimly lit and was using it to study the terrain before she went and stepped in it. Sydney alone seemed relaxed, but Harry had long since observed that the emotion she wore was often a poor indicator of how she actually felt. In fact, the more Harry observed her, the more he noticed her wary glances into the dim forest and how she would pause and tense momentarily whenever there was an unexpected sound.

They continued on for quite some time without incident. Thus far the only real trouble had been with getting scratched by stray branches and trying not to get jumpy to the point that they would send a spell after every passing animal. Harry was beginning to believe that just this once they'd managed to get out of the forest without being attacked when he was forced to reconsider his position.

Harry stopped dead. He felt as though he had swallowed an icicle; a long, sharp icicle. Sydney nearly ran into him in the dark.

"You alright?" she asked, utterly unaware of what was happening.

"Not exactly," Harry gasped, doubling over.

"Hermione?" Sydney called, suddenly concerned that whatever was afflicting Harry had affected both Wizard and Witch.

It had not, however, and Hermione came back to them a second later. "Harry what's wrong?" she asked, peering into his pale and sweaty face in the light of her wand. "You look like you've been poisoned!"

The very thought seemed to send chills down Hermione's spine. They were a considerable distance from the castle and she'd left her potions supplies back in her trunk. However, Harry managed to come up with a much more sinister explanation for his condition immediately upon seeing that Hermione wasn't suffering any ill effects. Another wave of pain brought him to his knees, and he took the opportunity to squeeze his eyes shut and bury his head in his hands.

Harry had never experienced such a sensation before, but knew only too well what was causing it. He'd once read a description of such an experience, and now that he'd felt the same thing he doubted very much that there was a better way to explain what he was currently feeling: _'It felt as though someone had taken a mixing spell and a lot of ice water to my insides.'_

"Harry, you've got to tell us what's wrong," Hermione was saying.

"It must be a Jabberwock!" Harry forced out. Crookshanks seemed to agree. He'd started hissing and spitting loudly from his crate.

Hermione was on her feet in a flash, raising her wand. Sydney was a second behind her.

"Do you know where it is?" Hermione asked the huddled mass behind her.

"Not exactly, but its close," Harry informed the ground, hoping Hermione could hear.

There was a gasp from the two women. Harry had only ever seen a rough sketch of a Jabberwock in his Care of Magical Creatures book, but since prolonged exposure caused insanity in men he wasn't particularly keen on adding any detail to his mental picture.

As it was, he knew they were strange dragon-like beasts and that, apart from their ill effects on men, they had sharp teeth, shaper claws, and liked using both. They were highly dangerous beasts.

"What could one be doing here?" Hermione asked.

"We can figure it out later," Harry groaned, "just stop it!"

"Stupefy!" Hermione called, but it didn't seem to help. In fact, the Jabberwock let out a roar like a scream and started approaching the group.

Hermione tried two more spells before she said, "Magic seems to just slide off her coat. What do I do?"

Harry wasn't sure. The only advice the book had offered to men was to run, fast, but he could barely move. Any attention he'd paid the book after that had gotten its day when he took his Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L., then promptly escaped his mind in the chaos that followed. But what troubled him more than that was the fact that Hermione, bookworm and human encyclopedia extraordinaire, couldn't remember either. Not that her losing her head in intense situations was entirely unheard of, but after the rather embarrassing experiences with the Devil's Snare in their first year and the Boggart in Professor Lupin's final exam, she'd made astounding efforts to keep cool under fire and rarely made a repeat performance of this magnitude. In this case, her timing was unfortunate.

"I don't know, try throwing something at it," Harry mumbled. His thoughts were elsewhere, attempting to ignore the glacier in his stomach and determine how the creature had gotten to the dark forest in the first place. It seemed no coincidence that their group was being attacked.

The Death Eaters _and Voldemort had never really bothered with trying to attack Harry with Dementors, even though they were the best assassins. After all, Harry had proven himself able to fend off a horde of them in his third year, and Hermione's otter patronus was a right old spitfire when the occasion called for it. Even Ron managed to conjure up a small, sliver dog, although it usually happened to be when it was least expected and least needed, like one unfortunate but memorable Potions lesson. At any rate, this foresight on the part of Voldemort made itself manifest in a huge annoyance for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with proportionally large teeth and claws._

"_That is one big lion," Ron said, awed, as they squinted up at the behemoth. Likewise, it gazed down at them, standing impassively between them and Hogwarts, waiting for the Wizards to make the first move. The pouring rain gathered in its matted fur and slid down to the ground in front of them, upsetting and deepening the puddles already there._

"_I'm not so sure that's a lion," Hermione replied, attempting to get a better look at it despite the pouring rain and dim light._

"_Well, at any rate, it doesn't look like it's going to let us pass," Ron sighed. "Any thoughts?"_

"_Creatures this big are typically impervious to magic," Hermione pointed out. She looked mildly concerned. "What do you think, Harry?"_

"_How'd it get here?" was what Harry meant to say, and how he meant it to sound, but he failed in the latter respect as the words instead came out as croaking hisses._

_All three Wizards jumped in surprise at the unexpected noise._

_Ron recovered first. "I thought you couldn't speak Parsletongue unless you were actually talking to a snake._

_Harry thought for a moment then said, "I can't," grateful that this time the words came out in English._

_The answer to that particular mystery was soon solved, as a giant snake came into view, flicking its tongue at them. At first glance, it looked as though the snake had merely caught a ride on the lion's back, but a sudden flash of lighting revealed not only that the snake in fact made up the lion's tail, but that the creature was also sporting another head, that of a goat, which seemed to protrude oddly from its back._

"_Oh, no," Hermione whispered._

_That seemed to sum up the situation very well as the trio stood, aghast, staring into the three faces of a Chimera, one of the most fearsome beasts known to wizard kind._

"_Hermione," Ron said squeakily. "A brilliant solution would be nice right about now."_

"_I'm thinking!" Hermione yelped._

_In the meantime, Harry decided to take matters into his own hands and hissed at the snake, "We don't want to hurt you."_

"_You're friends' actions suggest otherwise," all three heads replied simultaneously, creating an eerie echoing sound._

"_We just want to get to the castle," Harry said. "We'll only fight in self defense." He aimed a significant look at his friends as he said this, although he couldn't tell if they actually understood him, as he was unsure whether he'd been speaking English or Parsletongue at the time._

"_But we are so very hungry," the Chimera replied, "and you came so easily into our presence."_

"_We won't allow ourselves to be eaten," Harry gulped. "If you just let us go on our way then none of us will get hurt."_

_However, the Chimera seemed to have had enough of talking and had set about making itself as menacing as possible by bearing its combined teeth, although little effort toward its desired end was actually required._

"_Hermione, do you have anything yet?" Harry asked desperately._

_She shook her head despairingly. One look from Ron told Harry that he hadn't had any more luck._

"_Spells will bounce right off him," Hermione explained hopelessly. "They're kind of like dragons that way."_

_That was all Harry needed to hear to come up with a plan, but the Chimera lunged at them before he got the chance to do anything about it. Ron tackled Hermione out of the way as the lion and goat's heads snapped at them and Harry nimbly sidestepped the snake._

_For a moment, the Chimera seemed satisfied with stalking Ron and Hermione, who were scrambling to extricate themselves from the tangled pile they'd somehow gotten into. Harry took the opportunity to summon his broom from the broom shed and used the interceding time to throw whatever he could get his hands on at the beast while simultaneously sending Conjunctivitis curses in its direction, although neither seemed to have much effect._

_Not a moment too soon, his Firebolt soared up and halted next to him. He mounted it and kicked off from the ground and proceeded to try and distract the Chimera in the same way he had the Hungarian Horntail in his fourth year, but with much less success. It seemed as though the Chimera was perfectly satisfied with leaving the snake head to snap at Harry and keep him at bay while the lion and goat heads continued to threaten Ron and Hermione._

_The two on the ground had regained their footing by now, and were shooting off whatever spells they thought might help, but they too were proven ineffective. Everything seemed to slide off the creature's hide. Even a coordinated attack with stunning spells only resulted in a brief lapse in energy on the part of the Chimera. It soon became clear that, barring any unforeseen brilliant ideas, they wouldn't be able to slay this nemesis. Escape seemed to be the only viable option, difficult and risky as it was. There would be no outrunning the Chimera on foot, and even though Harry had his Firebolt, pulling out Ron and Hermione with it would be difficult at best and suicide at worst, especially since there would be no time for the two of them to mount the broom properly. Harry would have to carry them both._

_Equally impossible was the option of carrying them to safety one at a time, as whoever was left behind would almost surely die before Harry could come back for him or her, and Harry couldn't make that choice, let alone live with it afterwards. His mind made up, Harry pocketed his wand and began to plan his attack. Unfortunately, he was unable to convey his idea to his friends: not only did he suspect that the Chimera would be able to thwart any plan if it had sufficient warning, but he could not guarantee that he would speak in English with the snake around. Therefore, it was lucky that Ron and Hermione figured out what he was doing and raised their hands up for him to grab a split second before he needed them to._

_The extra weight forced Harry's chest onto his broom for support, compromising his ability to steer and he just barely managed to avoid crashing into the ground in the first few seconds of flight. Even after he recovered from that and became accustomed to working with the extra weight, gaining altitude proved to be a problem, the best he could do left Ron's toes just barely clearing the grass. Observing this, Hermione performed a spell on the two of them, making them lighter, which helped a little._

_By now the Chimera had figured out what had become of its quarry and set off in pursuit. Fortunately it was no match for a Firebolt, even grossly over laden as it was. Harry flew Ron and Hermione to a second floor balcony then set off to head the Chimera back into the forest. He resembled nothing so much as an overly large fly, buzzing annoyingly around the creature's three heads. The beast took the bait this time and followed Harry, swatting and biting at him menacingly from three different directions. At long last, they reached the tree line and Harry shot off into the forest, the Chimera on his heels. The beast gained on him slowly, since Harry had to negotiate a route between the trees while the Chimera mostly just crashed through them. He was beginning to decide that wherever they were would have to be far enough and hoped the Chimera wouldn't have enough sense to navigate its way back out of the forest when he saw something he'd really hoped he would be able to avoid: a Centaur, Bane, to be specific._

"_What have you done?" Bane asked, just before shooting an arrow at the Chimera._

_Harry saved himself the need to fabricate an explanation by flying up out of the dense forest and into the night sky. After a momentary battle with his conscience, Harry decided that the Centaurs had always been able to handle themselves in the past and there was little he could have done at that point to help them anyway. Nevertheless, he did feel miserable for bringing this Chimera to the centaurs' doorstep then abandoning them with it, but he had a more important task at had._

_Harry made his way to the balcony where he'd left Ron and Hermione. By the time he got there they had already checked each other for injuries and were anxiously awaiting his return. After he landed Harry realized how scratched and ragged he looked and how exhausted he felt, no longer in the top fighting form he had been in only a few minutes earlier. Harry sank to the ground and allowed himself a brief minute's respite while Hermione dried off his robes then sought out and tended to the deepest scratches._

"_Are you alright?"_ she asked gently.

"Perfect, Harry muttered. "We've got to get inside, warn the Order about the Chimera, and make sure no one goes outside."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure what to say to that.

"Harry, are you sure you're alright? We're trying to leave the school and there's no Chimera here."

Harry shook his head and rubbed his eyes as he realized that he wasn't on a balcony, but on the ground in the forest. He sat up slowly, grimacing at the dull ache deep in his stomach and took in his surroundings, still a little confused.

"What happened to you?" Harry and Hermione asked each other simultaneously.

Hermione was not particularly befuddled at the time, and was therefore a little quicker on the rebound and managed to declare, "You first," before Harry had fully realized his question had an echo.

"Well, I'm not really sure, actually," he admitted carefully after comprehension finally dawned on him. "I guess something about being attacked here reminded me about the night we fought the Chimera, when we were trying to get back, and…" He trailed off and shrugged, Hermione knew what he meant. "The Jabberwock must have done something to my head."

Hermione didn't have any idea of what to make of that, so she simply said, "They do have a strange effect on men, but you're okay, right?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry replied as he got unsteadily to his feet. "What about you? Why couldn't you remember what to do?"

"Is it really that unusual for someone to forget something like that?" Hermione asked accusingly.

"It's unusual for you," Harry pointed out.

"My mind just went blank," Hermione said defensively.

"Alright," Harry sighed. "Anyway, I guess you figured it out in the end."

"Actually I didn't," Hermione replied.

"You didn't?" Harry stammered. "But it's not…I mean…you got it…it's not effecting me anymore…"

"Sydney shot her," Hermione informed him.

"Oh," Harry said, taken aback. "The Ministry is gonna be thrilled."

"No kidding," Hermione sighed.

"We've got to go," Sydney said, coming up to meet them.

"Why the sudden hurry?" Hermione asked as they fell into step.

"I'm assuming stuff like that doesn't happen often?" Sydney prompted.

"No," Hermione replied. "Jabberwocks are native to Scandinavia."

"You remember that but you can't think of how to fend off the thing," Harry said.

"My point is, it must have been sent here," Sydney said. "Would it be like the Death Eaters to convince it to come after us?"

"It wouldn't be unheard of," Harry replied with a significant look at Hermione.

"That means that they've already figured out that we were involved in the raid of Malfoy Manor and decided that this is the most likely place for us to be. Someone in Hogwarts might have even told them where we were," Sydney explained. "We have to let ourselves be spotted once we get to London, to let them know we're not at Hogwarts anymore. Then hopefully they won't send something else here."

"That'll be easy enough," Harry replied. "Short trip down Knockturn Alley, if we make it out alive we can consider ourselves spotted."

"Alright," Sydney agreed.

They began walking again, Harry still feeling the after effects of the Jabberwock's presence in the pit of his stomach.

"Did you say that creature was called a Jabberwock?" Sydney asked, out of the blue. "As in 'Beware the Jabberwock my son'?"

"The very same," Hermione replied.

"Was Lewis Caroll a wizard?" Sydney said.

"No, he just happened to come across a Jabberwock," Hermione explained. "The Ministry caught up with him and modified his memory. You might notice he was a bit confused when he wrote that poem."

"I thought he did that on purpose," Sydney muttered.


	14. A Tale That Can't be Told

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, pocket watches, wrist watches, and grandfather clocks are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Ramble On" by Led Zeppelin.

Author's Note: Many many thanks to everyone who has reviewed, especially charmedgal005. Yep, Ron and Vaughn do rhyme, which is why I decided to call Vaughn 'Michael' in this story, it just sounds better in my head.

**Chapter 14: A Tale That Can't be Told**

"What's the score?" Michael asked.

"Wasn't that a change of subject?" Ron replied.

"Just answer the question," Michael sighed.

"102 to 25, my lead," Ron said. "Why?"

"I give up," Michael informed him.

"Excellent," Ron sighed. "I was getting bored."

"Me too," Michael replied.

"Did you have something else in mind?" Ron asked.

"Not really," Michael said.

"Well, there are plenty of books," Ron replied, glancing around. "One of them has to be interesting, although turning the pages with our feet is going to be a trick."

"No kidding," Michael said with a smirk, but the joke soon faded as he added, "There is something I've been meaning to ask you."

Ron had the feeling that if it wasn't a personal or touchy subject, Michael would have come right out and asked about it, so he was a bit apprehensive about where the conversation was headed, but he shrugged and said, "We seem to be in the habit of asking questions. What do you want to know?"

"Alright, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I've really got to know," Michael started, steeling himself up. "What happened back when you were fighting that Death Eater? You said you had some sort of attack, but what was it? Why does this happen to you?"

The arm in question gave an uncomfortable twinge, as though it had sensed it was being talked about and wasn't about to let the conversation go by without making itself heard as well. Ron gave an uneasy shrug. Of all the topics they could have turned to, this one he knew the least about. Hoping to get off the subject as quickly as possible Ron said, "I'm sorry about that, it's my fault we're here."

Michael, however, wasn't about to take that as an answer and said, "Whatever happened, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. We knew the risks coming in, and if we hadn't gotten captured then it might have happened later, and it might have been worse. At least we had time to warn the others so they could get out. So, why does this happen to you?"

Ron sighed and said, "I don't know really, no one does. Voldemort invented the spell. I wasn't even the intended target. Attacks seem to happen at random, but it feels like someone stabbing a hot poker into my arm. It happens to varying degrees, too. The last time, when I was fighting the Death Eater was the worst I can remember. It was like I was being burned alive from the inside out."

"You said that was the worst you could remember," Michael pressed. "So you think you've had attacks that you can't remember."

"Well, no, not exactly," Ron admitted. "It's just, I figure it hurt a bit worse than that when I got cursed originally, but that's all a bit of a blur."

"Was anyone there?" Michael asked.

"Harry was," Ron replied. "That's who Voldemort was trying to curse."

"Did Harry ever tell you what happened?" Michael said.

"Not really," Ron shrugged. "He gave us a general overview, the fact that he got Voldemort and all, but never anything specific."

"He never told you anything?" Michael looked incredulous.

"He's been at this a long time," Ron said defensively. "If he wants to deal with it on his own then its fine with me. I'm sure that if he thought he knew something that would help me he'd say something."

"Alright," Michael said, still a bit disbelieving. "I still can't imagine getting stuck with something like that. Is there something that helps you get through it?"

"Hermione," Ron replied, and he left it at that.

--------------------------

Harry couldn't help but smirk when he replayed this telephone conversation with Uncle Vernon for the eleventh time. His ear was still buzzing slightly after being subjected to the volume of his Uncle's anger at Harry for putting his family in danger, but Harry considered it a fair trade for being able to say that he would put in a request to the Ministry of Magic to get them some protection. He'd hung up during a pause while Uncle Vernon attempted to formulate a sufficiently furious response, but now Harry was curious about what he might have said. He also found himself wondering if the Dursleys had moved yet.

Hermione, on the other hand, had been strangely quiet since her own conversation with her parents. In fact, Harry wasn't sure if she'd done anything besides stare absently out the dark window of the Hogwarts Express, not moving except to play absently with the hem of her sleeve or stroke Crookshanks if he demanded attention.

"Hermione?" Harry said gently.

She straightened up at the sound of her own name and turned toward him, hastily dabbing at her eyes with the end of her sleeve.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

"Yes, of course," she replied quickly, forcing a smile, but she was unable to stem the fresh flow of tears, which she wiped off as well. "I'm just being stupid," she continued, "I mean Sydney hasn't turned into some bawling idiot."

One glance at the agent told Harry that Hermione had a point. Sydney was slouched in her seat, feet propped up on the bench opposite her, arms crossed, staring moodily at her knees, looking for all the world like she was in an angry old funk. However, Harry knew that she rarely displayed the emotion she felt, especially when the Wizards were around, and was about to remind Hermione of this fact when such and action was rendered unnecessary. Whether it was because she'd heard the topic of conversation turn to her, or she sensed that Hermione was in a similar state Harry didn't know, but Sydney gave a small hiccoughing sob then reached into her bag and pulled out a small bag of tissues, giving one to Hermione, taking one for herself, and leaving the rest on the seat between them.

"Thanks," Hermione said shakily.

"Sure," Sydney replied.

Harry wasn't sure what to do. He felt as though he should say something reassuring, or profound, but an impromptu trip to the bathroom sounded much more appealing. He knew that planning a way to get Ron and Michael back would make him feel a lot better, but that would require going over their last attempt in detail, and something told him that wouldn't be a very intelligent thing to suggest at the moment.

They sat in silence awhile, Hermione and Sydney sobbing quietly into their tissues and Harry, horribly uncomfortable, tried not to look at them while pondering how best to break the silence, each idea more desperate than the last.

Finally, Hermione looked up at Sydney and asked, "How did you meet Michael?"

Sydney paused to think through her answer, then said, "I'd just found out SD-6, an organization I used to work for, was a part of a group of terrorists and turned myself into the real CIA. Michael was there when I was writing out my statement. Then he was my handler when I was a double agent."

"That must've been awkward," Hermione said.

"You have no idea," Sydney sighed. "So what about you and Ron? Love at first sight, I suppose."

"Hardly," Hermione replied with a smile. "He was just a little boy with dirt on his nose, a spell that didn't work, and no idea where Neville's toad was, and I'm fairly certain he hated me at first, not that I can blame him. I was so hopelessly annoying at the time, wouldn't you say, Harry?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and gazed over the book he had pulled out long enough to give Hermione a slight shrug and a nod, then ducked back out of sight, only to discover that his book was upside down. He righted it hastily, hoping no one had noticed. If they did, they didn't say anything about it. Other men might have jumped at the chance to listen in on a conversation like this, and Harry had the feeling that if Ron and Michael ever found out about the spectacle Harry was witnessing, they would press him for every scrap of information he could remember. Harry, however, was wishing he'd retreated to the bathroom when he had the chance.

Hermione turned back to Sydney and asked, "So, what happened?"

"Well, after he stopped patronizing me and I stopped arguing with him about every little detail, I suppose we started noticing our feelings. We couldn't really do anything about it though."

"That must've been rough," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Sydney sighed, curling a leg underneath her. "But there were little things we could do; he got me a Christmas present, and I pressured his supervisor to give him a promotion so we could keep working together. You see, in my line of work, it feels like I've lied to everyone I've ever known."

"Even us?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Sydney replied steadily, as though she was daring Hermione to argue, but it wasn't the Witch who objected.

"What?" Harry demanded, as Hermione simply shrugged, as though she'd assumed as much all along.

"Never about anything important," Sydney added, meeting Harry's glare. "Just little things, people I know, places I've been. Information like that is dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands."

"What about Michael, then?" Hermione pressed. "You work for the same people, you don't have to lie to him, do you?"

"I do sometimes," Sydney admitted. "Sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten how to be honest with people."

"But you're dating now…" Hermione prompted awkwardly.

"A few weeks ago we finally managed to take down SD-6, we picked it up after that," Sydney explained.

"Oh," Hermione replied.

"So what about you and Ron?" Sydney asked.

"Oh, that's complicated," Hermione stammered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat and throwing a timid glance at Harry. "It's a long story…"

"We won't get to London for another four hours," Sydney pointed out, glancing at her watch. "Is that enough time?"

"Well, yes, but…" Hermione trailed off as she gave Harry another look.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what she wanted, but Harry nearly ignored the hint because he was so confused about why she wanted him to leave all of a sudden. They were best friends, and he'd unwittingly managed to glean most of their story from Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, so there wasn't much that she would know and he wouldn't. Unless there was…

Harry was on his feet before another moment had passed. He narrowly avoided hitting his head on the overhead rack but his shoulder wasn't so lucky.

"I think I heard the food trolley," he said, rubbing his shoulder gingerly. It was a lame excuse, but he didn't give them time to poke holes in it.

"Get me some Cauldron Cakes, will you?" Hermione called as he pulled open the door. She caught his eye and gave him a look which left no room for misinterpretation: take lots and lots of time.

"Sure," Harry said as he left, hoping that Hermione would realize that he understood.

As it happened, the trolley wasn't actually far off, so Harry bought a few snacks then found an empty compartment and stretched out, carefully picking through a box of Every Flavor Beans.

--------------------------

Ron and Hermione had taken it very slow, although few people expected anything less, if their foreplay was anything to judge by. After all, it had taken almost two months since when they'd met for them to hold a conversation where one party didn't come off insulted.

No one realized it until later of course, but how deep their bond went first made itself apparent in their second year, when Ron ate slugs in Hermione's defense. For most this might have been a job well done, but Ron then kindly explained his actions and the meaning of 'Mudblood,' despite the fact that he was otherwise occupied with coughing up the slimy bugs and Hagrid was on hand and perfectly capable of giving an explanation himself.

Even after their screaming match after the Yule Ball in the fourth year, it seemed as though they still had yet to admit their feelings to themselves, something they didn't manage until sometime in their fifth year. However, admitting said feelings to each other was another matter entirely, despite the continued prodding of Ginny, Fred, and George.

Finally, a few weeks into their seventh year what would have been their seventh year, during one of their brief stints in the safety of Hogwarts, Harry got tired of it all and came right out and asked Ron one night in their dormitory, "What's going on with you and Hermione?"

"What? Nothing!" Ron stammered, but he undermined his own credibility by breaking the glass basin he was holding at the time then using the wrong spell to try and repair it.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Harry asked as he mended the basin for him.

"It'd be nice," Ron muttered, throwing himself on his bed.

"So are you going to do anything about it?" Harry pressed.

"Do anything about what?" Ron replied huffily.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Harry said.

"Fine," Ron sighed, rolling over. "Nothing, I figured. She doesn't feel the same way anyway. And even if she did, I messed up pretty bad last year with that whole Lavender thing."

"Well, yeah, you did," Harry admitted, but he knew Ron's guess concerning Hermione's feelings was incorrect, as Ginny had provoked a similar conversation with the witch at Bill and Fleur's wedding, prompting a corresponding revelation, then, of course, told Harry about it, so he added, "Are you sure you know how she feels, though?"

Ron feigned thoughtfulness for a moment, then said, "Yeah, pretty sure."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't be," Harry informed him. "Maybe you should ask her and see what happens."

"I don't want to jeopardize our friendship," Ron said glumly. He had clearly rehearsed that answer.

"I don't think you would," Harry replied.

"Yeah, right," Ron sighed. "Let me know when pigs fly."

With this, Ron drew the drapes around his bed, indicating the end of the conversation. Harry tactfully decided that this would not be the best time to mention the ironic name of Ron's owl.

Fate, however, seemed to have other plans and a sense of humor. Hermione tended to insist that they attend classes whenever they were at Hogwarts, to prepare for the N.E.W.T.s, and Harry and Ron often joined her since time spent researching potential Horcruxes in the library without her tended to be time wasted. Thus, during Transfiguration class the day after Harry and Ron's brief conversation, they began trying advanced transplants between animal species, fully two weeks behind everyone else in the class. By pure chance, Ron wound up working with a duck and a small pig.

Harry noticed the irony in this right away, and was about to point it out when Ron said darkly, "You can wipe that smirk off your face, this pig isn't going anywhere yet."

However, despite the difficulty of the task at hand and Ron's lack of any special talent in Transfiguration, after the second try the duck's wings were firmly attached to the pig's back, something Ron was especially surprised about because he'd been attempting to exchange the animal's noses. In fact, Ron was second only to Hermione in speed: she'd been contemplating an equally impossible jackalope for the past five minutes.

It was difficult to surmise who was more horrified with this result, Ron or the duck, although the Wizard was able to recover fast enough to thwart the duck's suicidal dive off the side of the desk.

However, while Ron was otherwise occupied, the pig decided to take its own experimental go at flight and was soon flapping around near the ceiling. It was a full minute before Ron was able to coax it back down, despite the help of a summoning spell.

Annoyingly, Ron had a much harder time giving the wings back to their donor, exasperated by the fact that whenever he failed in the attempt the duck saw fit to land him with a painful inspirational peck. He sorted it out eventually, however, and as soon as it was able the duck sped out of the nearest window. This pig, however, looked slightly glum. It seemed to have enjoyed its brief foray into the realm of winged creatures and found being Earthbound again depressing.

As they packed up their things at the end of the lesson, Ron steadfastly avoided Harry's eyes, although Harry didn't really think he needed to say anything at that point. As soon as they left the classroom, Hermione noticed Ron's slightly bruised and bloodied hands, and immediately pulled them towards her and performed a healing spell. Ron's ears went pink

After that, Ron had a much harder time throwing off his friends' suggestions that he do something about Hermione, but as a further detriment to any attempts towards expediency, he was petrified with the fear of alienating Hermione by missing some Muggle tradition she might be expecting, since he considered himself utterly unfamiliar with any of them. It was only by the narrowest of margins that Harry managed to head Ron off sending a letter to Mr. Granger, asking him for permission to even date his daughter. In the end, Harry had to remind Ron that even though Hermione was Muggle born, she had spent the past six years as a Witch and would be sure to understand if he missed something. However, it wasn't until Harry was roped into promising to keep an eye out for him anyway that Ron finally let it drop.

As it worked out, the first move was more or less mutual anyway; they'd been sitting on opposite sides of the small couch in front of the fire studying a promising set of books about Rowena Ravenclaw one night. At the same moment that Ron straightened up and stretched his arms out sideways, Hermione lost her quill down the side of the couch and moved toward the center so she would be able to retrieve it.

Before either one knew what had happened, they were sitting next to each other with Ron's arm around Hermione's shoulder. Ordinarily, they might have flinched away, laughing uncomfortably until they had reached their respective dormitories, or the library, or someplace where the other person wasn't, but not this time.

Instead, for whatever reason, they both suspected or hoped that the other person had intended for that to happen and wondered whether they themselves had subconsciously wanted the same. So, through luck and mutual misunderstanding, Ron and Hermione discovered that their feelings were not unrequited and remained that way until Parvati came into the common room and made such a show of cooing over them and informing everyone that they'd always known this would happen that Ron and Hermione had to leave before their heads exploded with the embarrassment of it all.

At first they didn't know what to do with each other. Having apparently learned something from his experience with Lavender after all, Ron took the chivalrous approach to dealing with Hermione. He opened doors for her, pulled out her chair, and offered his arm whenever they were walking together, which was often, as he always tended to escort her to the library or the steps to the girl's dormitory. Hermione considered herself perfectly capable of opening her own doors and didn't especially need a guide around a school she'd attended for six years, but Ginny said that Hermione nevertheless found the tendency cute and funny and chalked it up among Ron's most endearing qualities.

Harry was woken up late at night about a week later when Ron returned to the dormitory, failing to keep quiet as he searched out his pajamas.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked groggily.

"Nowhere, go back to sleep," Ron whispered apologetically.

"You spent a lot of time nowhere," Harry pointed out, sitting up and pulling his curtains aside to stare blearily at Ron in the darkness.

"I was exploring the castle," Ron said.

"I could have come with you," Harry replied.

Ron whispered something. It sounded a lot like, "Not this time."

"What?" Harry asked.

"You were asleep," Ron said aloud. "I didn't want to wake you up."

"I wouldn't have minded," Harry said.

"I had a run in with Filch," Ron added.

"What'd he do to you?" Harry asked.

"The usual," Ron sighed. "Threatened house points, detention, torture. I think he nearly keeled over when I reminded him that I'm not technically a student right now. Anyway, I just wandered around, got caught by Filch, and came back here."

"If I asked Hermione would she tell me the same thing?" Harry pressed.

There was a pause. "She'd probably tell me off for being out after hours," Ron replied finally, but he didn't sound too sure about his answer.

"I'm not sure she's really in any position to criticize," Harry sighed.

"I asked her on a date, alright?" Ron exploded. "That's where I was."

"Alright," Harry replied. After that he'd decided that it would be best not to pester Ron for any more information, but he inadvertently got the full story from Ginny two days later anyway. Apparently, the pair of them had gone out to the lake to watch the sunset and stayed out to watch the stars. The relationship had taken off from there.

--------------------------

Harry jumped awake and barely avoided falling off the bench he'd stretched out on. He sat up and righted his glasses, but it took him another moment to work out where he was and how he got there. He was on the Hogwarts Express, a pale early morning light was sifting into the compartment, and the train was slowing down. They were nearly in London.

Harry gathered up the empty candy wrappers and Cauldron Cakes he'd promised Hermione and made his way back to the other compartment. Sydney and Hermione had fallen asleep as well, curled up on their respective benches. Harry gently shook them awake then pulled out some of his Muggle clothes and left again to change. When Harry got back, Hermione was coaxing Crookshanks into his crate and Sydney was going through her pack. Harry had just barely managed to stow away his possessions again when the train rolled to a stop.

After disembarking from the train they made for the crowded subway. They had managed to arrive in the middle of the morning rush to work, but Sydney maintained that it was, in fact, a good thing, as it would be harder to follow them, something she'd seemed overly concerned about since they'd arrived in London. She kept insisting that they do the strangest things, such as duck into random shops and exchange jackets. Hermione tried to remind her that one of their tasks while in the area was to be seen, and draw the Death Eaters' wrath away from Hogwarts, but Sydney merely said that they would be safer if they knew their movements weren't tracked and resumed discretely examining those around them.

They breakfasted in the Leaky Cauldron, drawing much more attention to themselves than any of them would have liked, most of it at Harry's expense. Never since the trip through the pub in his first year had so many Witches and Wizards decided to come and shake his hand, offer their congratulations and thanks, or ask for a photograph. Not all of the attention was particularly friendly, either. Once Harry was only spared the embarrassment of a bat bogey hex by the shoddy aim of its perpetrator. After that incident, Harry and Hermione took to eating with their left hands, their wands lying in wait just under the table as they watched passers by carefully.

Only occasionally was Harry given enough peace to sneak a bite of his scone or a swig of his tea, but as the amount of uncovered plate began to surpass the amount of uneaten food he found himself making excuses to eat slower and slower. His last trip down Diagon Alley had been many things, but most certainly was not quiet. He hadn't seen anything in the Leaky Cauldron thus far to convince him that this time would be any different. He also couldn't help but dread the forthcoming venture into Knockturn Alley.

All too soon, Sydney and Hermione stood up. Harry knew there would be no use arguing that he wasn't finished yet, as he hadn't taken a bite for the past ten minutes and his tea had long since turned stone cold, so he grudgingly laid a Galleon on the table and followed his colleagues out of the backdoor. He'd been considering acting as though he'd forgotten which brick inspired the archway to reveal itself, but Hermione beat him to it and he was resigned to attempting to flatten down his bangs over his scar instead. Not that anyone actually needed that scar to help recognize him anymore, but hiding it seemed to give him about a second's head start, just long enough to find some reason to duck away if he noticed he was gaining someone's attention.

However, when the bricks finished making way for them and they stepped through, no one on the crowded street seemed to notice them. Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief and set off. However, when he finally reached the dingy entrance to Knockturn Alley, he discovered that Hermione and Sydney were no longer with him, having apparently missed the turn.

"Oi, Hermione!" he called as he caught up to them. "Knockturn Alley's that way."

"I know," Hermione replied without missing a step.

"Then where are we going?" Harry asked.

"Fred and George's shop," Hermione replied.

"Why?" Harry asked happily.

"You know," Hermione said.

Up to that moment Harry had been ecstatic about the opportunity to have another look inside Fred and George's shop, if a bit curious as to why Hermione had been the one to suggest it, but after that explanation there was no doubt in his mind that Hermione wanted to tell the twins about what happened to Ron herself, so it was with some trepidation that Harry followed her into the shop marked Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Fred and George's shop seemed to get more spectacular every time they visited, and more crowded. Dozens of varieties of Skiving Snackboxes were lined up in shelves against a wall, fireworks covered another, and trick wands were arranged in barrels on the floor. Some of their newer experiments were found in cases around the store, bedecked with warnings concerning minor side effects they had yet to work out along with fliers asking for test subjects, offering a discount off future purchases for their troubles. Harry wanted to join Sydney and explore the place a little, but Hermione dragged him up to the cashier's desk, which Lee Jordan was manning.

However, before Hermione could get a word in, Lee blurted out, "Harry! Fancy seeing you here. You've almost got Fred and George talked out of it, but I still think we should put a tribute to our founder somewhere: something along the lines of 'Harry Potter shops here.' What do you think?"

Harry was saved the indignity of begging him not to do such a thing by Hermione, who pulled Lee's attention back toward herself. "Are Fred and George around? It's very important that we speak with them."

"Oh, sure," Lee said lazily. "I think Fred's in back and George is on the floor, but it could be the other way around, hard to tell sometimes, you know? You can go ahead and look for them if you'd like."

Hermione thanked him and sent Harry into the foray for George while she slipped into the back room. Ordinarily, any of the Weasleys were simple to spot, even in a crowd, but the shop was so brightly colored already that his red hair didn't stick out nearly as much as usual. Harry finally found him, talking up one of their newest inventions, forgery quills, to a group of customers.

Not exactly in the mood for getting spotted and mobbed, Harry ducked behind a nearby display and caught George's attention with a quiet "psst!"

All was nearly lost when George turned around to see who'd hailed him and found Harry, then nearly pulled him out of his hiding place into full view of the crowd, but Harry managed to head him off with a slight shake of his head and a gesture asking him to come over.

"Are those legal?" Harry asked after George had excused himself.

"Well, we made it impossible to copy anyone in the Ministry," George said with a shrug. "We figure it'll be alright."

They found Hermione and Fred arguing behind the cashier's desk, the latter of the two looking very much as though he'd just been dragged out by his ear.

"Cripes, woman, you're worse than my Mum," Fred yelped.

"Only when I have to be," Hermione replied. "What were you trying to do anyway?"

"Vanishing pellets," Fred replied proudly, "perfect for the out of bounds student. One bite turns you into whatever inanimate object is appropriate until the pursuing teacher, Prefect, or parent goes away."

Harry thought these sounded like a grand idea and was quite excited to buy a few when Hermione said, "But it didn't work, did it?"

"Well, it's still in the testing stages," Fred shrugged.

"How did it go?" George asked eagerly.

"A few people got stuck during the transformation," Fred replied. "You should've seen this one guy, turned into a vase but he still had legs."

"Are they alright?" George said.

"Lee's sorting them out," Fred shrugged. "Anyway, I think we need less bicorn horn."

"More wolfsbane, then?" George said.

"That should do it," Fred said. "Also, I think we might have a problem if there's no one actually after the person."

"We could give it a time limit," George suggested.

"Excellent," Fred exclaimed. "Five minutes?"

"Nah, better go ten, some Prefects can be downright relentless." George shot a meaningful look at Hermione as he said this.

"Alright, as interesting as this is, we're not here to observe your creative process," Harry said suddenly, beckoning them up the stairs to the loft where Fred and George lived. "Hermione's got something to tell you."

Hermione looked a little startled at everyone's attention being brought back to her, she'd obviously been using the time to collect her thoughts. Harry couldn't feel too sorry for her, though, after all, she'd been the one who wanted to tell them. By the time they'd reached the privacy of the twins' loft, she'd managed to pull herself back together and explain what had happened two nights ago in Malfoy Manor. Fred and George's faces remained uncharacteristically impassive through the entire retelling. When she finished, the twins merely sighed and nodded.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked cautiously, she'd never seen Fred and George looking so downcast before.

"Fine," Fred sighed, but neither he nor George looked it.

Harry thought it might be best to leave the pair to their own thoughts for a moment, but Hermione cleared her throat pointedly and jerked her head sharply, indicating the stairs back to the shop. Harry poked his head towards the staircase and found Sydney discretely browsing through a display near the base of it. Harry shrugged at Hermione and went to bring her over.

"We've got to disappear awhile until things quiet down," Harry explained to the twins when he got back with Sydney. "Communication could be difficult, so we need you to relay some information to the Order for us. Ron wasn't the only person taken hostage. This is Sydney Bristow. She and a man named Michael Vaughn have been helping us. Michael's still in there with Ron."

"Alright, we'll let them know," Fred shrugged, clearly thinking this wasn't such an important bit of information.

"There's something else, Sydney and Michael are Mu-" Harry stopped himself when Hermione stepped on his foot. "You're Dad would be very interested in their way of life," he finished cryptically, but it was clear that Fred and George got the idea. They looked like they wanted to ask why exactly Harry had decided to ask Muggles for help instead of the Order, but thought better of it.

"We can write to Mum and Dad, let them know what happened, and they can tell the Order, whatever's left of it," George offered

Harry agreed to the suggestions and offered for Hedwig to be the messenger, something he regretted almost immediately. An owl that wasn't as fast, intelligent, or in possession of such a knack for finding recipients so easily might have given Harry at least a day's reprieve from the impending howler, but Harry could hardly rescind his offer now. Hermione looked like she couldn't believe what she was doing, but passed Crookshanks over to the pair as well.

"Don't worry," George assured her as he accepted the cat's crate. "We won't experiment on him too much."

Hermione shot them a look which said, in no uncertain terms, that if they put so much as a canary cream near her cat she wouldn't rest until she'd boiled them both in oil.

"If you don't tell us when you go fight these Death Eaters we will personally hunt you down and force feed you every type of Skiving Snackbox we have," Fred said.

"I've always wondered what would happen to someone who got a bloody nose, a high fever, passed out, vomited, and came down with the chicken pox at the same time," George said.

"Wouldn't be spending much time in class," Fred laughed.

"Very true," George agreed.

"Maybe we should come up with a few more for this lot, just in case," Fred suggested.

"Excellent idea," George exclaimed. "I've actually been thinking about making one that causes hives for awhile now, although hypoglycemic shock wouldn't be bad either."

"What about diarrhea?" Fred asked.

"Ooh, disgusting, I love it," George said gleefully.

Harry, Hermione, and Sydney left the shop with Fred and George still creating more horrible ways to punish them.

"Let's get this over with, then," Harry sighed, giving Hermione and Sydney looks that dared them to come up with another excuse to postpone the endeavor, even though he secretly wished they would.

"Listen," Harry continued. "There's not much point in you two coming in there with me. It'll probably be dangerous and you shouldn't stick your necks out for something like this."

He'd expected them to try and argue the point, but surprisingly they merely looked at each other, shrugged, and nodded. Just as Harry was turning to leave, Hermione pulled him back and parted his bangs so his scar was clearly visible.

"Thanks," Harry sighed.

"Good luck," Hermione replied.

"If I'm not back in half an hour I'm probably dead," Harry said.

"We'll meet you back here," Hermione said.

Harry once again found the dingy and dangerous looking gap between two shops and followed it through to Knockturn Alley, in all its threatening and dirty glory. It was as if a barrier prevented any of the joy and excitement so common in Diagon Alley from spilling over into its darker counterpart.

Severed animal limbs and toenails hung in darkened shop windows and old hags with carts and baskets attempted to heckle passersby into buying their grotesque wears.

Harry's mission was simple, widow shop his way to the street's end and back, maybe buy a drink somewhere, and hope someone would spot him and tell the Death Eaters he wasn't at Hogwarts anymore. He narrowly resisted his nervous habit of pawing his bangs down over his scar and set off on his winding way, carefully avoiding eye contact and forcing his face into a placid expression.

When he could no longer bear the sight of dried intestines and shrunken heads frozen in expressions of pain or terror, Harry located a bar and slipped inside, then he sat down at the counter and ordered a Firewhiskey. While Harry was waiting he tried to strike up a conversation with his neighbor, but he didn't seem the talking type, which was probably lucky, as Harry had neglected to think of what to talk about that might be of any sort of interest to an inhabitant of Knockturn Alley while simultaneously not betraying his own quest.

It was with some trepidation that Harry accepted his drink from the barkeeper. He needed his wits about him, after all, but he hadn't wanted to call any more attention to himself by ordering a Butterbeer. He settled for giving the glass a covert tap with his wand, hoping to take some off the bite off the liquid inside. Finally, after taking a moment to gather his nerves, Harry tossed it back and winced: if Firewhiskey was an acquired taste, then his new concoction was downright vile. Nevertheless, he forced himself to call for another, but compromised with himself by rolling it between his hands a minute before changing the drink and draining it.

Harry dropped a few sickles on the counter and stood up to leave, fortunately feeling only slightly tipsy, although he suspected that the full force of it had yet to hit him.

The contents of the shop windows were as grotesque as ever, but the Firewhiskey had taken the edge off it all, which seemed a satisfactory tradeoff for the pounding headache he was sure to develop later, although Harry was quite certain he'd disagree when the time came.

At long last, Harry could go no further and he started down the other side of the street for the return journey. Under ordinary circumstances, returning to a place seems to take much less time than getting away from it, as it should have been for Harry since he had his destination set firmly in his mind. However, it was only the fact that Knockturn Alley had no side streets that prevented him from suspecting that he'd made a wrong turn somewhere.

He'd long since come to the conclusion that the main reason he'd nearly been attacked on one of his previous trips into Knockturn Alley was because he was a scrawny twelve year old kid who looked lost and alone. Now he was beginning to feel as disoriented as he must have looked then, not a good sign. He might not have been scrawny and twelve anymore, but advertising the fact that he was Harry Potter around a haven for dark Wizards hardly seemed like a good alternative. Sure enough, the whispers around him began to gradually increase and he could feel the multitude of furtive stares on his back.

Harry wanted to run, to get out of there as quickly as he could, but he knew that showing any sort of fear would only worsen his situation, although he did pull his wand out of his pocket, just in case.

Finally, the inevitable moment came. A large, muscular wizard came up behind Harry and grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him around and yelling, "You! Potter!"

Harry wasn't immediately certain if this was intended as a question, some sort of prelude to another statement, or perhaps a trollish version of a complete sentence, after all, the wizard scarcely looked capable of finishing his thought. Since the man gave no indication that he was going to continue speaking and offending him any further seemed like an unwise course of action, Harry decide to go with the first of the three possibilities and nodded dumbly.

This, however, turned out to be the wrong way to go, as the wizard tossed Harry away and spat, "Scum!"

Harry over balanced and dropped to his knees and before he could regain his feet he was rushed by the gathered crowd. Before he knew what had happened, he was being pelted by everything from beetle dung to kicks to hexes, all of it coming from far more directions than he could count. It was all he could do to protect himself with a shield charm, much less turn back the onslaught. His only viable option was to Disapparate out of there, but as his current luck would have it, he hadn't regained the ability to perform the trick since he'd done so with Sydney. He was stuck, and it was clear that his assailants could keep it up much longer than he could.

Suddenly there was a shout: "Stop! He's ours!"

Harry's heart sank, not only did it seem that he was about to come up against someone with a true vendetta against him, but this person was sufficiently menacing to cause the mob to back off. Two old Witches stepped into his field of view, one pointing her wand threateningly into the crowd while the second hauled him roughly to his feet with a strength unbefitting of her years. Harry tried to overpower her by twisting out of her grip, but she somehow managed to use his own momentum against him and tossed him back to the ground while simultaneously disarming him. Harry was stunned, he'd never seen anyone use a tactic like that.

The crowd made another attempt at him and Harry felt a few pellets of beetle dung bounce off him, however, the first Witch stopped them by saying, "This half-blood murdered our husbands!"

Harry balked. That couldn't possibly be right, he'd only ever killed one person, although it was only the plurality of her statement that helped him banish the sickening possibility that Voldemort could have been married.

"Wait," Harry pleaded. "There must be some mistake, you're looking for someone else, I've never…"

"Quiet!" the second witch yelled, pulling him once again to his feet. "We know it was you, Harry Potter."

The Witches each grabbed him by an arm and dragged him off, kicking and twisting for all he was worth.

As soon as they were more or less out of earshot of the crowd, the Witch with the wand asked, "The shop connected with the floo network, which is it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Harry muttered darkly.

"Come on, Harry," she said. "In your second year you had a mishap with Floo Powder and wound up in Knockturn Alley, which shop was it?"

"Hermione?" Harry asked, going slack in his confusion.

"Yep," she replied. "The shop, please."

But Harry wasn't finished getting his facts straight. "Then you're-"

"Yes," Sydney replied curtly from his other arm. "Keep struggling."

"A little less forcefully though, if you can," Hermione pleaded.

"Sorry," Harry replied, giving off a halfhearted kick.

"The shop, Harry," Sydney demanded.

"Borgin and Burkes," Harry said apologetically.

They located the store and dragged him unceremoniously inside. Luckily, Mr. Borgin was nowhere to be seen, but that was likely to change as they hadn't made a very quiet entrance. Hermione pulled a small bag out of her pocket and offered the Floo Powder to Harry as Sydney passed back his wand.

"Go to the Leaky Cauldron, I'll take Sydney," Hermione said.

"Are you sure you can-" Harry started.

"I know you can't, we'll be fine, just go," Hermione ordered.

Reluctantly, Harry dropped the Floo Powder into the fireplace, called out his destination, and stepped inside. A few seconds later he was spit out of the brick hearth in the Leaky Cauldron. He picked himself up and started clean the dung and soot off his robes. A few seconds later, the fireplace flashed green and Hermione and Sydney spilled out, still clasping each other around the forearms. Harry tried to help them to their feet, but neither one made it further than her knees.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

"Fine, just very dizzy," Hermione replied, clutching her head. Sydney was in a similar state.

"I guess I know what you two will look like when you're older," Harry quipped. "I should tell Ron and Michael, warn them."

"You wouldn't dare," Hermione said, smacking his leg playfully. She then pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, looking even more old and decrepit than she had while she was acting the part.

"No, I wouldn't," Harry admitted, helping Sydney up. "Thanks, by the way."

"Don't mention it," Hermione replied.

"So you just keep a random assortment of wigs with you?" Harry asked, gesturing to their ratty hair.

"Hardly," Sydney said. "Hermione transfigured us. This magic is very useful sometimes."

"You did this?" Harry asked Hermione. "Isn't that difficult?"

Hermione merely shrugged her reply.

"Well, do you want some help sorting yourselves out?" Harry offered.

"Not unless you want to join us in the women's restroom," Hermione pointed out.

He didn't, so he located an empty corner of the pub and returned to brushing beetle dung off his clothes until the pair came back a few minutes later, looking decades younger.

As they stepped outside, Harry finally voiced a question which had been nagging at him.

"Whose idea was it to come after me?"

"Well, Sydney's mostly," Hermione started.

"Never go in without backup if you can help it," Sydney interjected.

"Yes," Hermione said, "but-"

"But you knew I'd want you to stay behind, so you planned ahead, which is why you didn't argue when I asked you to stay here," Harry finished thoughtfully.

"Pretty much," Hermione replied.

"We had a point to prove," Sydney added.

"Well, consider it taken," Harry said. "You two are sneaky when you feel like it."

"We have our moments," Sydney replied.

"So, where are we going?" Harry asked.

"We've got to get lost," Sydney said.

"That sounds easy, I'm hopeless at navigating London," Harry replied. "But what's the point."

"I meant from anyone who might be following us," Sydney sighed.

"Oh," Harry said sheepishly. "That's a little harder."

"I suppose you have a plan," Hermione prompted.

"We've got to go someplace crowded," Sydney explained.

"Anywhere in particular?" Hermione asked.

"I've thought of a few places that should work," Sydney replied.


	15. Leave the Lights On

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, toy trains, trading cards, and dull swords are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Put Your Lights On" by Santana and Everlast.

**Chapter 15: Leave the Lights On**

"When do you think they're going to feed us?" Michael asked.

"You're hungry too?" Ron replied.

"Yeah, just a little," Michael sighed.

"That's another point," Ron said.

"What's the score?" Michael asked.

"You lost count?" Ron said.

"Didn't you?" Michael replied.

"Yes," Ron admitted, then winced.

"Ha!" Michael exclaimed. "Fifty six to a hundred and eighty three your lead."

"I thought you said you lost count!" Ron demanded.

"Fifty seven," Michael said smartly.

"Aren't you bored of this yet?" Ron asked.

"I was bored of this three hours ago," Michael replied.

"Me too," Ron sighed.

They both paused for a moment, waiting for the other to take a point, but neither did.

"How were you so good at that?" Michael asked finally.

"I'm not sure," Ron admitted. "It probably has something to do with Fred and George. You wouldn't know since you've never met them, but you've got to keep sharp with that lot around. Do you have any other games?"

"Not at the moment," Michael replied. "You?"

"Nothing," Ron sighed.

They lapsed into silence, each alone with his own thoughts. Michael focused his attention around the room, looking for any potential means of escape, but his findings weren't promising. Ron, on the other hand, set about trying to find a more comfortable position, but no matter what he tried, leaning against a bookshelf, sitting up, even lying down, nothing seemed to help. The fact of the matter was, there was no relaxing with his stiff arm tied awkwardly behind his back, and all his moving around was only making it worse. He finally settled for trying to move his shoulder, hoping that somehow it would loosen his tense muscles.

After observing him for a moment, Michael asked, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Ron moaned through clenched teeth.

Michael didn't believe him for a second, a fact he made obvious by giving Ron a skeptical look.

Ron decided to change the subject and said, "There's going to be hell to pay when we get out of here."

"No kidding," Michael said with a smirk.

"Although most of it will probably be directed at me," Ron added.

"Oh, I don't know about that, Sydney can be a real spitfire when the situation calls for it," Michael replied.

"It's not your fault we're stuck in here," Ron pointed out.

"It's not yours either," Michael said.

"Oh, it isn't!" Ron laughed. "How do you figure? You weren't the one who let that Death Eater get away!"

Suddenly, someone turned the doorknob from outside, but seemed to decide not to enter just yet. When Ron and Michael paused their conversation in confusion they could hear voices in the hallway. The two prisoners started talking very quickly and quietly to get out their thoughts before their doom arrived.

"You couldn't help it."

"Oh couldn't I?"

"I saw you when you got back, you did all you could."

"It obviously wasn't enough."

"I could have helped you."

"Hand to hand isn't much good against magic."

"Then I could have shot him."

"I told you I could handle him."

"It's against procedure to do anything without backup if you can help it. I shouldn't have let you go alone."

"You didn't know anything was wrong with me at the time."

"I should've stayed nearby and jumped in when you needed help."

"I told you to go…"

But Ron was prevented from reiterating exactly what he'd told Michael to do when a Death Eater burst through the door. Michael immediately adopted the deceptively calm demeanor of a coiled snake, but Ron took one look at the intruder and had to fight down an angry fit of laughter. It was Peter Pettigrew.

Michael noticed this and whispered, "You two have some kind of history?"

"Yeah, just a little," Ron scowled.

Pettigrew came up and sat a bowl down next to each of them. Michael gave a slight shrug, hoping to discover that the bonds confining their arms behind their backs had loosened, but they hadn't, so he leaned over in an attempt to find the best way to eat the mess he'd been given. Ron, however, had spent the last few hours sitting on the cold, hard floor, becoming increasingly annoyed with the pain in his arm, and now that he had a release for his anger he wasn't about it give it up without a fight.

"How about freeing our arms?"

Pettigrew, however, had been watching Michael's degraded attempts to pick up the bowl with his teeth with some amusement and seemed keen to let the spectacle continue.

"No, I think not."

"Oh, come on," Ron groaned. "You're the one with the wand, and our legs are still bound. We're not going anywhere."

Pettigrew seemed to waver in his resolve slightly, so Ron let loose with the final cincher. He nodded in the direction of Michael, who had just come very close to upsetting his bowl, and said, "We can't eat like this, and we're no good to you if we starve to death."

Ron's logic was impeccable, or, at least, good enough, but Pettigrew wisely decided not to say anything to confirm it. He only sighed and removed their bonds with a flick of his wand.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said with a grimace as he pulled his right arm so it was cradled into his chest.

"Nice work," Michael whispered. "But did you have anything to do with letting our legs go too?"

"No, that was all him," Ron replied as he began spooning the mush into his mouth with his left hand. "He always was a bit incompetent. Five galleons say he can't figure out how to get them back on."

"That bad?" Michael asked.

"Worse," Ron replied.

"What's his story?" Michael inquired.

"It's not very pleasant," Ron said, taking a steadying bit of mush, although it seemed to have the opposite effect. "He used to hang with Harry's Dad's crowd. He gave up the location of the Potters to Voldemort, faked his own death and framed Sirius to escape the Ministry, conducted Voldemort's return, killed Lupin, and-"

"Stop talking about me!" Pettigrew exclaimed suddenly.

Ron and Michael forced their faces to look politely taken aback.

"Sorry?" Michael asked carefully.

But Ron wasn't one to resist a jab where he could get one, especially when Pettigrew was involved. "Since when are you the most interesting person on the planet?"

"You are captured and I am your guard. It is only natural that you would attempt to contrive a way to escape," Pettigrew said loftily, obviously trying to regain some dignity after his previous blunders. "Besides, I heard my name."

"Well, you might want to put your old rat years on, then, because then you'd be able to listen in on us properly," Ron shot back.

"A bit paranoid, perhaps?" Michael suggested, sensing an advantage. "Afraid that what we're talking about will turn out to be some ingenious plan to escape?"

"Of course not," Pettigrew said sharply. "Now be quiet or I will be forced to punish you…"

This ultimatum was met with a significant amount of eye rolling on the part of the prisoners, but they held their silence anyway, at least until Pettigrew seemed to relax a little.

Michael leaned over to Ron and asked, "What did you mean about the rat ears?"

"Oh, that," Ron said with an uncomfortable laugh, nearly choking on a mouthful of glop. "He used to be my pet rat."

"What?" Michael stammered.

"He can turn into a rat," Ron explained. "That's how he hid from the Ministry."

"Oh," Michael said. "What?"

"Never mind," Ron shrugged. "It's complicated."

Michael could tell he wasn't going to get much more out of Ron on the subject, so he remained quiet as they hungrily cleaned their bowls until Ron sat up suddenly and said, "Oh, Harry!"

"What?" Michael asked, a sudden panic coming over him.

"Remember the hell we're going to have to pay when Hermione and Sydney catch up with us?" Ron whispered, and Michel nodded carefully. "Well he's got to deal with them both, right now."

"Oh," Michael winced. "Poor man."

"No kidding," Ron replied. "If I had to pick between there and here I think I'd stay here."

"Well, maybe not here," Michael said thoughtfully.

"Good point," Ron agreed, "but I'd pick most places over wherever Harry is."

-------------------

"This is a good place to get lost?" Harry asked skeptically as he looked up at the large Muggle club that Sydney had found in London. Even though they were standing across the street from the building, they could still hear the loud music echoing through the cool evening air.

"I couldn't come up with a better place if I tried," Sydney replied. "Not only is it utter chaos in there, but anyone who would be following us wouldn't have an identification card, so they would have a hard time following us inside."

"Sydney, we don't have identification either," Harry pointed out.

"Do you, for that matter?" Hermione added.

"Course I do," Sydney replied. "Did you really think I hadn't planned ahead for that?"

She pulled open her purse and rifled through it until she located a small plastic card, which she handed to Hermione.

"Kate Jones," Hermione read. "That's an interesting way to spell Sydney Bristow."

"One of my more ambiguous aliases," Sydney shrugged. "She a citizen of forty seven different countries. Can you make copies for yourselves? You'll have to say you're both at least eighteen."

It was the work of a moment to create the false cards, although Hermione insisted on watching the pictures for a full minute to make sure they didn't move. Much to the Wizards' dismay, Sydney confiscated their wands and hid them in her bag, promising to give them back if anything went wrong and citing the fact that they didn't have a good place to conceal them in Muggle clothes.

Neither Harry nor Hermione had ever been in a club before, so they stepped inside with some trepidation. Luckily, their false ids passed without question. Harry and Hermione hadn't had much of an idea of what to expect inside, but whatever image they'd conjured in their heads, it wasn't the one they were met with.

The interior was dimly lit, with flashing colored lights providing most of the illumination. The music was almost deafening. People were crowded together on a large dance floor, jumping and dancing wildly in a pulsing mob. Sydney pulled them to a group of tables off to the side, where it was thankfully a little quieter.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Harry offered to go and get them some drinks, although Sydney had to pull him back first and thrust some Muggle money into his hand. Harry knew very little about Muggle drinking laws except that they existed, so he decided not to risk it, although it took a conscious effort to order soda instead of butterbeer or pumpkin juice. When he took a stool to wait for the drinks to arrive, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

It wasn't an uncommon sensation, especially considering his present fame. However, he wasn't known at all in the Muggle world, making this premonition cause for some concern, so he risked a glance around to try and find the source of his discomfort. The area was nearly deserted; most people inhabited the dance floor instead. A couple of men were bent low over a table in the corner, discussing something. Hermione and Sydney were in a similar position towards the other side of the space, and a middle aged woman was sitting a few chairs over from him at the bar.

She seemed to notice his gaze, because she turned toward him and said, "Wotcher," as a greeting before turning back to her drink. Harry gave her a slight smile combined with a nod and a shrug in reply. He was quite sure he'd never seen her before, but there was something so familiar about her statement, it took him a moment to place it.

Just then the bartender came back with his drinks, and when Harry passed by the woman on the way back to his table, he said, "Tonks?"

He'd spoken very quietly, perfectly prepared for the encounter to go either way, but fortune prevailed and the Metamorphmagus straightened up at the sound of her name.

Harry slipped into the seat next to her. "I thought you were dead. They said you were killed in Hogwarts."

"I'll wager they never identified my body," Tonks replied.

"Apparently not, but no one could find you afterward," Harry explained. "Why didn't you tell anyone you were alive?"

"Just because you didn't know I was back doesn't mean the Ministry didn't," Tonks said, "or the Order, for that matter."

"Guess not," Harry shrugged. "How long have you been following us?"

"A few hours," Tonks replied. "I finally managed to track you down when you came into Diagon Alley. What are you doing in London?"

"We're here on Ministry business," Harry sighed. "But I suppose you already knew that. Did they send someone to follow us?"

"No," Tonks replied.

"Then why are you here?" Harry asked.

"Because the Order isn't as dead as you seem to think," Tonks replied.

"Well, it's got to be in pretty rough shape, what with four of its prominent members dead and all," Harry pointed out.

"We know what you're trying to do and we'd like to help," Tonks informed him.

"Come on," Harry said, nodding to the table where Hermione and Sydney were sitting and feeling as though a huge amount of responsibility had just been lifted from his shoulders. "Hermione will be happy to see you again."

Hermione and Sydney straightened up out of their conversation as Harry approached.

"Made a new friend, did you?" Sydney asked coolly as Harry distributed the drinks and found a chair for Tonks. She obviously didn't approve of Harry introducing himself to random bar mates when they were trying to hide.

"Our getting lost skills need work," Harry said as he said down.

"Well we haven't been here long," Sydney said. She sounded friendly enough, but she started rummaging under the table for something, presumably a gun or a wand.

"Hermione Granger, Sydney Bristow, meet Nymphadora Tonks," Harry said.

"What?" Hermione stammered, staring at the visitor. Tonks screwed up her face in concentration and a moment later a pig snout replaced her nose.

"Tonks!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up to hug her.

"How did she do that?" Sydney asked.

"She can change her appearance at will. Hermione and I didn't recognize her at first because that's not how she usually looks," Harry explained.

"Oh," Sydney said. "That's a neat trick."

"No kidding," Harry sighed, feeling the familiar jealousy of Tonks' abilities welling up within him. "Although you seem to do just fine without it, Sydney. Michael says you're a chameleon."

"I don't know about that," Sydney shrugged.

By this time, Hermione had released Tonks from her hug, who was taking the opportunity to catch her breath.

"You'll be sticking around, then, won't you?" Hermione demanded. "We could use the help."

"Actually, I can't," Tonks replied reluctantly. "The Ministry doesn't know I'm here, see, and they're convinced that you lot can handle the Death Eaters while we Aurors keep tabs on all the other aspiring dark lords. I was just here to deliver a message to Harry." Harry nodded, proving he had already gotten it. "I'll be off then, but don't worry, I'll be checking on you from time to time."

With that she got up and left.

Looking glum, Hermione turned to her drink and took a cautious sip, wrinkling her nose at the effect of the bubbles

Harry supposed that he probably ought to say something to cheer her up, but the music kept disrupting his thoughts and he couldn't think of the right words. Hoping to give himself time to think, he took a drink of his soda but soon discovered that he would have been better off leaving it alone. Since soda was one of the many things that his Aunt and Uncle so enjoyed lavishing on Dudley but denying Harry, he'd never tried it before and was completely unprepared for the way that the bubbles tickled the back of this throat. He narrowly managed to swallow before he started coughing.

Before Harry could had recovered from his encounter with carbonation a man approached the table and asked Hermione to come dance with him. She shrugged him off with a cool politeness unbefitting of a person who hadn't had to do the same thing a million times before. Harry and Sydney both looked at her, amazed.

"Where did you learn that?" Harry demanded, forcing himself not to resume coughing.

"Remember when Fleur was involved in the Order and I worked with her a bit?" Hermione prompted.

"I think Ron probably remembers a little better than I do," Harry laughed. "He didn't know what to do with himself."

"Well, she taught me a few things about dealing with men," Hermione continued.

"Who better to learn from than the master," Harry shrugged.

"That guy had a point, though," Sydney reminded them. "We're supposed to be blending in, but as long as we aren't dancing we're not accomplishing that."

Harry and Hermione looked as though they had just been sentenced to torture.

"You want us to dance," Harry stammered.

"Yes," Sydney, looking at them as though she thought this should have been obvious.

"With each other," Hermione pressed.

"You can dance with whoever you want, but I imagine it will be a little easier if you stick together," Sydney said with a shrug.

Hermione chanced a timid glance towards the dance floor, an unwise move as she could barely even make her next statement. "But dancing in the Wizarding world is completely… we don't know how to… we'd stick out like…" She finally had to stop before she hyperventilated.

"That doesn't matter," Sydney maintained. "It's easy, just jump and flail around like the rest of them."

"But we…" Harry tried desperately.

"Just get out there," Sydney muttered, getting up and pointing at a distant corner of the club. "We'll meet over there in half an hour, change our appearance, go out for a little while longer, then leave out the back. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Sure," Harry sighed.

Sydney didn't allow either one the chance to argue any further. Instead, she strode confidently over to the dance floor, flirted her way into the company of the first man she saw, and was lost into the crowd.

"Well," Harry said, trying to muster up some courage, but all the same not really knowing what to do. "Hermione, may I have this dance?"

The dance floor was even more riotous on the inside than out and within the first few steps then had been stepped on and elbowed more times than they could count and Harry had nearly lost his glasses, but they continued to push their way through. Finally, they forced themselves to start dancing like everyone else, smiling impishly at their own embarrassment and infinitely glad that no one they knew was around. However, this didn't last very long, for a nearby dancer lost his balance and went careening into Harry, knocking him, _Ron, and Hermione to the ground. The invisibility cloak fluttered up over their heads, revealing them to their assailant, although, apparently, he didn't need to see them to find them._

_This was followed by a brief disagreement concerning what to do next. Harry leapt to his feet, wand raised and pointed at Fenrir Greyback, while Hermione scrambled back under the cloak and pulled Ron under with her._

_Bravely, Harry maintained his ground even after the snarling Greyback developed a very hungry look in his eye. However, before either of them got the opportunity to mount an attack, Greyback was suddenly tackled to the ground. Peter Pettigrew was holding him to the floor and looking as though he was quite certain that he had lost his mind._

_A moment later, Lupin came running into the fray from the opposite direction, yelling, "Harry! Hide!"_

_Before Harry had decided whether this statement ought to be ignored entirely or warranted an indignant rebuttal, Ron and Hermione had shuffled forward and thrown the cloak over him as well. After that he was forcibly prevented from rejoining the battle._

_It didn't take long at all for Greyback to toss Pettigrew aside and regain his feet, but by that time Lupin was already upon him. A cutting spell grazed Greyback's shoulder, but since the werewolf's wand was nowhere in sight, Lupin seemed reluctant to press such an unfair advantage._

_Slowly, Greyback reached up and ran his hand over his wound, then gazed that the blood covering his fingers with mild interest. "So, Remus, this is how you repay me."_

"_I am not in your debt," Lupin spat, tightening his grip on his wand._

"_You owe me your life," Greyback growled. "I made you who you are."_

"_You made me an outcast," Lupin replied. "I'm not about to thank you for it."_

"_After all these years you have yet to realize that I made you stronger," Greyback continued, licking his lips. "I thought maybe you knew when you joined us two years ago, but you have proven that you are just as weak as any other wizard."_

"_I guess it's true what they say, then," Lupin shrugged. "You can never trust a werewolf."_

_Greyback rushed forward and slashed his fingernails across Lupin's neck and chest. Blood spurted everywhere, but he didn't have time to do any more damage, because suddenly, Greyback howled in pain and dropped to the floor. While Greyback was distracted with Lupin, Pettigrew had crept forward along the floor. When he was close enough, he had used his silver hand to crush the bone in Greyback's leg. However, there was a flaw in this plan: Pettigrew didn't quite manage to retreat before Greyback started raking his claw-like nails against his face and arms. Pettigrew yelped and tried to roll away, but it was no use, Greyback grabbed his arm and wouldn't let go. Turning into a rat only made matters worse: Greyback caught him up by the tail and left a long scratch down his spine._

_Without warning, Greyback dropped Pettigrew in favor of grasping at his neck. Pettigrew scrambled away and transformed, then sat on his knees and watched Greyback slowly choke to death. When it was clear that the werewolf would trouble them no more, Lupin released the spell that had been strangling him._

"_Did he bite you?" Lupin asked weakly, glancing at Pettigrew and holding a torn piece of his robe to his own neck._

"_I think these are all scratches," Pettigrew replied, examining his bloodied arm._

"_That's good," Lupin replied._

"_So," Peter said, looking up with a timid smile, "we can work together after all, Moony."_

_Lupin seemed to consider him for a moment then reached down to pull Pettigrew to his feet, saying, "I suppose so, Wormtail."_

_For a moment, it looked as though they might put aside all the years of wrongs that had passed between them, then Pettigrew attacked._

_Caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, Lupin was knocked backwards into a nearby banister before he could even raise his wand. He sent a curse back, but Pettigrew raised his silver hand to intercept it and the spell was deflected away. Every piece of magic Lupin performed met a similar fate as Pettigrew slowly came toward him. Finally, with a terrible smirk, Pettigrew placed a hand on Lupin's chest and tipped him backwards over the banister._

"Harry, you've got to get up before you get trampled."

"What?" Harry asked, peering upwards into Hermione's face.

"We're in the middle of a crowd, or haven't you noticed," Hermione said. "If you stay down there much longer someone's going to step on you."

"Oh, right," Harry replied as everything came back into focus.

"Are you alright?" Hermione continued as Harry got to his feet. "Did you hit your head or something?"

"No, why?" Harry said.

"Well, I couldn't get your attention for a few seconds, there," Hermione explained. "You looked dazed."

"I probably couldn't hear you," Harry improvised. "It's really loud in here."

"Alright, if you're sure," Hermione replied with a shrug.

After that, everything seemed to go well enough, they might have felt stupid as they tried to dance, but they knew at least that someone would have an exceedingly difficult time of following them. However, this only lasted until the song ended and was replaced by one with a much slower tempo. All around them people started to form up into couples, but it seemed that in this regard Muggles danced differently than wizards as well. Ordinarily, Harry and Hermione might have taken a stance very similar to that used in a waltz, but Muggles seemed to prefer a sort of moving hug, a very tight moving hug.

With uncomfortable glances at each other, Harry and Hermione copied their neighbors, but they couldn't bring themselves to get closer than arms length, and Harry was very careful to keep his hands closer to Hermione's lower ribcage than her hips. He hoped that somewhere in that mob of people, Sydney was feeling sorry for them. Finally, after they noticed the strange looks they were getting, Harry and Hermione caught each other's eyes and by mutual consent pulled each other closer so they were more or less touching. The development, however, was short lived. They hadn't been that way for more than thirty seconds when Hermione started maneuvering the two of them towards the edge of the crowd. Unsure of what to do, Harry allowed her to drag him along as she wanted.

He leaned over and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Hermione replied, but there was something about the way that she didn't remove her face from his shoulder as she spoke that made him suspect she wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Hermione," Harry pressed. He realized that if they kept on in their current direction, they would reach a wall very close to the door to the woman's restroom.

"I just wish Ron was here," Hermione said. Harry didn't want to jump to conclusions, but his shoulder felt a bit wetter than usual.

Harry bit back a sigh. He'd suspected that was the case, and he unfortunately wasn't entirely sure what to do. He might be her best friend, but in this case he was a sorry substitute for Ron. With nothing else for it, he said, "Listen, we're going to get him back, I promise, but right now we need to make Sydney's plan work, then we can get out of here and start finding him."

This, however, had the opposite effect from what Harry had intended. Hermione seemed to break down even more and pulled him tighter so she could hide her face in his shoulder and neck.

To Harry, this seemed like a very good time to give up before things got any worse, so he decided to bank on his guess and said, "Do you want me to take you to the restroom?"

She nodded, so Harry took over and guided her slowly to the edge of the dance floor then to the bathrooms, and Hermione slipped inside. For a lack of anything better to do, Harry found an empty patch of wall near the door and leaned up against it. He gazed into the crowd, his eyes unfocused, until he noticed the angry looks he was receiving from the women who had witnessed the exchange and the sympathetic ones from the men. After that, Harry took to examining the ground. It, at least, didn't seem to be accusing him of anything.

About when the floor stopped being so interesting, Harry started to get worried about how long it would take Hermione to recover. He wasn't doing a very good job of hiding as long as he was standing there, but he felt obligated to stay. He chanced a glance into the crowd and as luck would have it, he saw Sydney flash by and dove in after her. Ordinarily, such an attempt might have been hopelessly futile, but luck once again prevailed and he found her a little ways into the crowd. He pulled her away from her partner, who he noticed wasn't the same man she started with.

When they reached the wall Sydney grabbed Harry by the shoulders and demanded, "What's wrong? Where's Hermione?"

Harry cowered slightly under Sydney's penetrating stare. "She's in the bathroom, we were dancing and she started crying. I didn't really know what to do…" Harry explained desperately

Sydney relaxed her hold on him and said, "It's okay, I'll go talk to her."

"Alright, thanks," Harry said. "But go easy on her; she's having a rough time of it."

"You got it," Sydney replied, pulling the wands out of her purse carefully and allowing Harry to select his own, which he stuffed up his sleeve. "Go change your clothes and hair, try to look like the rest of the people here."

"Look what?" Harry asked.

"Like that guy," Sydney explained, pointing to a tattooed, chained, and dyed passerby.

Harry still wasn't at all sure of how he was going to carry out this new demand, but he set off for the men's room before he incurred any more of Sydney's wrath. Meanwhile, Sydney made her way to find Hermione.

There were several women in the bathroom, most of them crowded around the mirrors fixing their makeup. Hermione, however, was not among them.

"Hermione?" Sydney called. There was a shuddering gasp followed by a slight knocking on one of the doors.

Sydney located the correct stall and knocked back, saying, "It's me, open up."

Hermione did as she was bidden, albeit reluctantly. She'd expected Sydney to drag her out, but instead she crowded in with her.

"Hi," Hermione said, dabbing at her eyes with a wad of toilet paper. "I'm sorry, I should have been able to hold it together, I mean, Michael's out there too. I messed it all up, you had this great plan and I screwed it up."

"Stop it!" Sydney whispered vehemently. "Don't do this to yourself, Hermione, it's not your fault, and we can still make this work."

"I broke down all over Harry," Hermione muttered. "How embarrassing."

"I know you feel embarrassed," Sydney replied, "But I could tell Harry didn't really mind that. He's worried about you, that's all."

"You didn't-" Hermione started.

"This is my job," Sydney said. "I have to compartmentalize everything, and I hate it. I don't want you to ever have to do that, not if you can help it."

"Okay," Hermione said weakly, staring at the ceiling and attempting to blink away her tears.

"Now come on," Sydney said, giving Hermione a pat of the shoulder. "We won't find them if we stay in here. We have to look different when we leave. Can you give me spiky green hair, a leather tank top, a short skirt, fishnet tights, boots, and as many earrings, necklaces, and bracelets as I can wear?"

Hermione nodded and set about changing Sydney's hair then conjuring the necessary items, and, what's more, the intellectual pursuit seemed to do her more good than any verbal reassurances. When Hermione got done with herself she was dressed completely in black, including straight black hair, and Sydney pulled out eyeliner and black lipstick to darken her eyes and lips. In fact, Hermione looked strikingly like a female version of Professor Snape, easier on the eyes, perhaps, since she lacked his hooked nose and sallow skin, but still not the type most people would want to spend a considerable about of time alone with in a dark dungeon.

"You ready?" Sydney asked as Hermione vanished their old clothes and passed her wand to the Muggle for safekeeping.

"Let's go," Hermione replied.

-------------------

If Harry had known a good spell to tame his wild hair he would have started using it on a regular basis years ago. As it was, all he could really do was conjure himself a hat, which, he concluded as he inspected himself in the mirror, wasn't such a bad option. Otherwise, he felt completely ludicrous in tight plaid pants and a denim jacket covered in metal studs with a ratty black shirt underneath, but when he stepped outside a nearly unrecognizable Sydney took one look at him and said he looked perfect before confiscating his wand and dragging the two Wizards back onto the dance floor.

Neither one of them had exactly been looking forward to that moment, but as it worked out, it seemed that their new attire had instilled some strange confidence in them as well, and they were soon jumping and flailing like everyone else. In fact, it was almost too soon when Sydney nodded in the direction of the back exit.

They walked for several miles, although the actual distance traveled was up for debate as Sydney kept insisting that they double back around city blocks and go through random shops. Finally, Hermione could stand walking in high heels no longer and they found a Chinese restaurant where they ate a late dinner and changed back into their normal clothes, though Harry kept his hat. Sydney seemed to be an expert with chopsticks, but Harry and Hermione had never even considered eating with a pair of sticks before. After watching her noodles slip off of her chopsticks and on to her lap for the third time, Hermione gave up and conjured herself a fork. Harry wasn't having much more luck and wasn't in any sort of mood to put his transfiguration skills to the test, but he was getting too much pleasure from skewering his pieces of chicken to ask Hermione to make him a fork too.

When they left the restaurant they spent a little more time window shopping at Sydney's insistence, then the Muggle hailed a taxi, which drove them to a rental car lot.

Sydney paid for the car in cash under an alias the Wizards had never heard of before and were likely never to see again. As they approached the car, Sydney headed automatically for the left side, a fact Harry and Hermione only called her on after casting cautious glances at each other.

"Um, Sydney?" Hermione said carefully.

"Yep?" Sydney replied, fiddling with the stubborn lock.

"We drive on the left," Hermione pointed out.

"I know," Sydney said.

"Well, that means that the steering wheel is on the right," Hermione reminded her

Sydney straightened up suddenly with the realization of her mistake and without a word moved to the other side of the car.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Harry asked gently as they got inside, even though the answer was really only a technicality. Either Sydney drove them or they'd be hitchhiking.

"Yes, I'm sure," Sydney sighed. "I just got distracted for a minute."

"Alright," Harry replied, although he wasn't much reassured. Staying on the correct side of the road would take conscious effort on Sydney's part every time they turned, so they couldn't afford for her to become distracted again.

"So, we're going straight to Wiltshire, then?" Hermione asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yep," Sydney replied curtly.

Both Wizards brightened visibly at this.

"Wiltshire," Harry said. "Excellent place."

Harry beat Hermione to the front seat, effectively volunteering to act as navigator. Hermione slipped in back, and although she surely had qualms about the arrangement, she didn't give them any voice. Harry located a suitable map in the glove compartment and, with some effort and the help of a point me charm, found a route that would take them to Wiltshire and began to instruct Sydney in its execution. Hermione kept a wary eye on the Muggle's driving, drawing a sharp breath and tensing involuntarily whenever she judged that they ran a special risk of ending up on the wrong side of the road, something Sydney found exceedingly disconcerting.

As it happened, Hermione's reservations were not unfounded, at least where Harry was concerned. No sooner had they reached the freeway than Harry nodded off to sleep, still suffering the effects Apparating with Sydney. Hermione immediately snatched up the map and double checked their location against Harry's route, although that was really just a precaution as it had been Sydney, not Harry, who correctly determined the past three turns, despite the Wizard's obvious advantage.

"Is he alright?" Sydney asked as she matched speed with the other cars.

"He says he is and I'm inclined to believe him," Hermione replied with a shrug that was lost in the darkness.

"I've just never seen him this tired before," Sydney said.

"He just has to recover," Hermione explained. "Depending on the situation, Apparating can take a lot out of a Wizard. Harry's the only person I've ever heard of who has Apparated with a Muggle."

"I suppose the opportunity to try doesn't come very often," Sydney said jokingly.

"No, not really," Hermione replied.

"Did this happen the other time?" Sydney asked. "Harry getting really tired like this, I mean."

"Yes, although he got better faster. Wait," Hermione stopped herself and mentally replayed their conversation, looking for where she had said that Harry had Apparated with someone else once before and coming up empty. "How do you know about that?"

"When Harry first suggested Apparating with me, you said that it was too dangerous, that he didn't know what would happen, and that the last time it had been with an unconscious wizard," Sydney replied.

"Oh," Hermione muttered.

"Who was it?" Sydney asked.

"Ron," Hermione replied.

"Ron!" Sydney demanded, turning to face Hermione in her surprise.

"Sydney, the road," Hermione said, straightening up nervously.

"Sorry," Sydney replied, returning her attention to driving. "But really? It was Ron? What happened?"

"I, um, I actually don't know the specifics," Hermione mumbled. "I wasn't there, and they don't like to talk about it much."

"I'd take a generality," Sydney pressed.

"Alright," Hermione said slowly. "Ron was hurt and almost killed by Voldemort in the battle in Hogwarts. Somehow, Harry pulled him all the way to Hogsmeade and then Apparated with him to Saint Mungo's. He saved Ron's life."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with whatever's wrong with Ron's arm, would it? Whatever caused him all that pain the night we came up with the plan to track down Lucius Malfoy at a Quidditch match?" Sydney asked. She couldn't help adding, "And whatever gave him all that trouble during our raid?"

"It would," Hermione sighed, then added, "left at the fork," in such a tone that she clearly indicated her desire for the conversation to cease.

-------------------

After nearly drifting off the sleep for the third time, Michael forced himself to his feet and started pacing around to keep himself awake. Pettigrew had long since left with the remnants of their meal and the all too familiar gnawing of hunger had returned shortly afterward. On the plus side, as Ron predicted, Pettigrew hadn't been able to replace their bounds, giving the captives free range of the library and another opportunity for a good laugh at Wormtail's expense, although they did manage to contain themselves until after he'd left. After that, they'd pulled themselves to their deadened feet and tried valiantly to restore circulation to their appendages. Once the particularly painful round of pins and needles had subsided, Ron had pulled out the most comfortable looking book he could find and used it as a pillow for a long awaited nap, leaving Michael to keep watch.

A quick glance at the window told the tale of a cloudless night with a bright full moon providing the room's only illumination, but Michael wouldn't have believed it even if Ron hadn't warned him of the possibility of the window being enchanted: unless he was sorely mistaken, the full moon was at least a week away. Of course, without their watches and only a limited amount of contact with the outside world, the passage of time was difficult to judge and there was no accounting for the time they'd spent unconscious. However, Michael suspected that he would be significantly hungrier if they'd only been fed once in seven days. There was also no telling whether it was actually day or night, but with nothing to occupy his attention, Michael could feel himself slowly falling asleep on his feet.

With a reluctant sigh, Michael knelt down to shake Ron awake, taking care to take hold of the Wizard by his good shoulder.

"'smatter?" Ron asked groggily, sitting up and pawing at his eyes.

"Can you keep watch awhile?" Michael asked.

"Sure," Ron replied around a huge yawn.

"Just wake me up if you hear anything," Michael said as he curled up on a patch of floor. Within minutes he was asleep.

"Michael!" Ron said urgently into his ear.

The Muggle was about to ask him what was going on but when he opened his eyes and was nearly blinded by the surrounding sunlight, the more pertinent question was banished and replaced with, "Have I really been asleep that long?"

"No, only about half an hour," Ron replied and Michael groaned. "That happened all of a sudden a few minutes ago," The wizard continued. "But listen, I think there's someone…"

At that moment, the door opened and Lucius Malfoy stepped over the threshold, a self satisfied sneer covering his pointed face.

Ron had seen Malfoy more times than he cared to remember, but there was something different about him now. He couldn't make any true physical difference, perhaps the overconfident swagger or the way he held his head a little higher, but the cause of the discrepancy was clear. Gone was the Malfoy whom Harry had described groveling at Voldemort's feet. This Malfoy was an emperor, a god, even. At least he considered himself to be, which was hardly any better.

Malfoy took a minute to study the library, as though he'd simply come by in search of a book, then said without preamble, "I daresay I don't know why Potter still brings you along on his little endeavors, Mr. Weasley. You do seem to cause nothing but trouble."

Ron nearly managed a response to this, but the thought was captured and garbled by the part of his mind that happened to agree with his assailant. All that made it to his mouth was a faint noise, something like a hiccup.

"I think Ron's caused a bit more damage than you might expect," Michael said crisply, picking up the slack.

"Is that so," Malfoy replied, turning his attention to the Muggle, "and you are?"

"Dimitri Dorin," Michael improvised.

"Charmed," Malfoy sneered. "Well, Mr. Dorin, I don't suppose you'd care to share the nature of some of the brilliant hindrances you've caused us?"

That was a tricky request to skirt around, so Michael chose to mask his discomfort in cool silence. Ron wasn't quite so quick to master his own emotions, but as he was presently occupied with staring at the ground anyway, his blunder wasn't quite so obvious.

"Oh, I assure you the question is merely academic," Malfoy said with an oily laugh. "We've already found all your pathetic traps, I'm simply curious to know which ones were of your concoction and which ones were left by your friends."

Michael once again managed to maintain his composure, but Ron squirmed slightly at the mention of their companions.

Noticing this, Malfoy said, "Yes, they wouldn't tell me either…"

Ron finally forced his gaze from the floor and looked up at Malfoy.

"Concerned, are you?" Malfoy asked. "I suppose you would be, after all, it is your fault that you were all captured and I'm still alive."

Malfoy met Ron's gaze and after a moment Ron found himself unable to resist looking away.

"Then again, I suppose that's not entirely true," Malfoy smirked. "How could you fight the supreme power of the pure bloods?"

He took a moment to stare at the captives expectantly, as though he'd just made some great joke and was waiting for them to burst out laughing. When they didn't he continued, "You should know that the Purebloods are an unstoppable force. You are mere insects by comparison. Nothing you can ever do will even slow us down."

"You're wrong," Michael said quietly.

"What's that?" Malfoy asked menacingly.

"You're wrong," Michael repeated, more strongly this time. "All empires fall."

"And where did you get that idea?" Malfoy pressed.

"History," Michael replied. "Even the Romans, possibly the greatest civilization in history couldn't escape it. Then there's regimes based on fear. Hitler and Stalin both didn't fare too well."

A faint but visible lack of comprehension covered Malfoy's face at the sound of these two names and Ron quickly said, "Not to mention Grindewald-"

"-and Voldemort," Michael added, catching himself.

Malfoy looked for a moment like he wasn't sure how to respond, then he said, "That may be true, but I am neither Grindewald nor Voldemort and I command a far greater force."

He turned to Ron and said," You should also know that you are only making things worse for yourselves, because the only thing I hate more than a Muggle lover…"

He turned to Michael. "…is a Muggle."

"I have been accused of many things in my life, sir," Michael said coolly, "but never of being a Muggle."

"I'm sure," Malfoy sneered, and with that he turned and left.

Please leave a review. I would love to hear any comments or criticism you might have.


	16. Hold On

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, puns, catchphrases, and pick up lines are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Hold On" by Sarah McLachlan or "Everybody Hurts" by R.E.M. Take your pick.

**Chapter 16: Hold On**

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_Harry couldn't tell where the spell had come from, nor where it was directed, but in that moment he didn't care, he wasn't about to let himself get killed within five minutes of arriving in Hogwarts, so he merely dragged Ron and Hermione behind the nearest suit of armor. After thirty seconds he judged that they spell must have run its course and made to move back into the open. However, before Harry had cleared the statue, Ron pulled him back down and stepped out himself, tense and cringing. When a few seconds had passed and he still hadn't met his doom, he opened first one eye and then the other, finally relaxing when he saw that the hallway was empty. Harry and Hermione carefully extricated themselves and joined their companion._

"_You didn't have to do that, mate," Harry informed him._

"_Yeah, I did," Ron replied simply._

"_Well, thanks," Harry said as Hermione grabbed his arm suddenly. "What's wrong?"_

_Apparently at a loss for words, Hermione merely pointed in the direction of the banister, which overlooked the Entrance Hall. At first it was unclear exactly what had so disturbed her, then there was a sudden shout and the walls and ceiling around the entrance hall momentarily adopted a green glow._

"_Oh no," Harry gasped, rushing to the balcony. Caution only returned to him in the last few steps._

_Below, a small band of teachers, Aurors and Order members were attempting to defend the stairs and other points of access to the rest of the school against an encroaching pack of Death Eaters. Unfortunately, the defender's disadvantage seemed grave. They were not only outnumbered, but Mad-eye Moody and a limited number or Aurors seemed to be the only ones willing to return the Death Eaters' green fire in kind._

"_We have to help them," Ron said, carefully aiming his wand at the nearest Death Eater._

"_We can't," Harry cried, pushing his arm down._

_"Well, what do you expect us to do? I'm not going to stand here and watch a massacre," Ron replied. "They don't know we're up here. We could pick them off one by one."_

"_And you don't think they'll notice?" Harry demanded. "Within thirty seconds every Death Eater in the castle will know where we are."_

"_Wait," Ron said. "How many do you think are here?"_

"_When Voldemort was resurrected there were almost thirty in his inner circle alone and all of them and everyone they know are bound to be here," Harry replied. "I thought we just proved that the front door isn't the only way into this castle."_

"_Mr. Potter is correct," said a voice from behind them._

_The three Wizards spun around, wands raised. They couldn't possibly have heard what they thought they had. He was dead._

_"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione yelped, her eyes falling on a nearby picture. Its usual occupants looked like they were trying very hard not to complain about being crowded out by the former headmaster._

"_I thought I might be seeing you three here," Dumbledore replied, "I told Professor McGonagall that it would be no use warning you to stay away."_

"_This is my battle," Harry said._

_He'd expected Dumbledore to greet the statement with some prepared speech about how he was not yet ready, that the prophecy could wait, but he merely smiled sadly and said, "So it is."_

_Harry was too busy trying to comprehend this sudden reversal to reply right away, so Hermione asked, "Can you tell us anything about where the Death Eaters are, or how many are here?"_

"_Unfortunately, any information I have is now almost ten minutes old and thus hardly accurate. I can tell you this, however. If Voldemort is here, he has yet to make his presence known, but I believe you have the tools necessary to determine his location, Mr. Potter."_

"_Great," Harry muttered. He'd been worried that the Marauder's Map might be necessary; he'd foolishly left it in his dormitory and the Gryffindor tower was a significant and risky detour._

"_I don't need to tell you how dangerous these men are," Dumbledore said quietly, beckoning for them to gather around his borrowed picture, "but I would be negligent if I didn't remind you to be careful and look out for each other. Keep hidden and avoid the Death Eaters if you can. I believe you have a tool that can help with that as well, Harry."_

"_Yes, sir," Harry replied, grateful that he'd at least had the foresight to bring his invisibility cloak along on the trip to Hogsmeade._

"_Since I suppose you will be headed in that direction anyway," Dumbledore continued, "the students were sent to their dormitories as soon as the first Death Eaters were spotted, and the ghosts have been giving Professor McGonagall regular reports on their well being, but I have been rather worried about them, those in Gryffindor especially. I fear it will be difficult to keep them from being drawn into this conflict."_

"_We'll check on them, Professor," Hermione assured him._

"_I suppose that's all, then," Dumbledore sighed. "The best of luck to you all."_

"_You too, Professor," came the general reply as the three young Wizards started off._

"_Oh, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, calling the two of them back while Harry continued to the banister. "You do know-"_

"_That this is Harry's fight and not ours?" Hermione finished. "Yeah."_

"_And you know why?" Dumbledore continued._

"_Yes," Ron replied._

"_And you realize it would be much safer for the both of you-"_

"_With all due respect, sir," Hermione interrupted, "Harry tried to tell us the same thing and we didn't listen to him either."_

"_In that case…" Dumbledore began._

"_Look out for him," Ron said. "We know."_

_Dumbledore gave them a silent nod and a smile, then backed away from the picture frame, inviting them to continue on. Ron and Hermione joined Harry by the banister. The battle had ended and the floor below was scattered with random bodies, stunned or dead, Auror and Death Eater alike._

"_Come on, mate, let's go," Ron urged him._

_Harry, however, was not to be moved for the moment. "We could have helped them, we had the high ground, they didn't have to die."_

"_No we couldn't, Harry," Hermione replied. "You said so yourself, we would've given away our position. We have to focus on finding Voldemort."_

"_But we could have helped them!" Harry cried._

"_Harry, there's nothing we can do anymore."_

"_We've got to go, Harry."_

"Harry!"

"Wha?" Harry asked groggily, jerking awake to find himself back in the rental car with Hermione shaking him awake by the knee.

"We're there," she said, "Wiltshire."

"Oh, great," Harry said, getting out of the car into the still night of a parking lot in front of a small hotel. A glance at his watch told him it was nearing two o'clock in the morning. With a yawn, he started stomping the circulation back into his stiff limbs.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Yeah, fine, why?" Harry replied.

"Well, that must have been some dream," she explained. "You kept thrashing around and talking in your sleep, something about helping someone."

"Oh," Harry sighed.

"Do you remember what it was about?" Hermione pressed.

"Nothing important," Harry muttered, then, trying to change the subject he asked, "Do I usually talk in my sleep?"

"I couldn't tell you for sure, we usually sleep in different rooms, see," Hermione pointed out as they moved to the back of the car. After a moment of trying to fit the key into the lock by the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, Hermione gave up and covertly opened the trunk with a tap of her wand so they could pull out their bags.

A moment later, Sydney came back with the keys to their hotel room, one of which she passed to Harry while she pulled out her own pack then locked the car and Hermione stayed behind to make sure her magical tampering hadn't caused any lasting anomalies. Harry walked to the inside hallway, located their room, and opened it, then stepped inside the dark room, which smelled strangely of cats, and without even thinking about it, lit his wand.

Hermione came rushing in a second later and flipped on the light, rendering Harry's wand light unnecessary, then pulled the door shut and she said loudly and pointedly, "I don't know why you have to use your _flashlight_ when there's a _light switch_ right by the door."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, extinguishing his wand, "I just…"

"Forgot?" Hermione demanded. "Out of practice, perhaps? A little groggy? Come on, Harry! We can't get sloppy, not when we're this close!"

With that, she picked up the remote control, examined if for a moment, then aimed it at the TV and tried two buttons before successfully locating the power switch. However, the channel the TV was set to was airing something extremely loud, and it was all Hermione could do to turn the device off again before she risked incurring the wrath of their sleeping neighbors. After that escapade she weekly tossed the remote back on the nightstand and herself on the nearest bed. Harry spent a moment in desperate indecision, then sat down next to her and began rubbing her back gently. She flinched away at first, but then gave in to whatever comfort he could offer her. They remained this way until Sydney came inside a few seconds later.

"Everything alright?" she asked, seeing them.

"Brilliant," Hermione sighed, sitting up.

"Fine," Harry replied simultaneously.

Sydney, however, was not convinced and after looking around the room for inspiration, asked, "Harry, can you sound proof this room?"

Harry was only too eager to carry out this request because he assumed it meant they'd soon be working out the details to an ingenious plan to rescue Ron and Michael, defeat the Death Eaters once and for all, and save the day all around. However, his hopes were dashed when Sydney sat down on the second bed across from them and said, "Let's play a game."

"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "A game? What good will that do?"

"Ron and Michael are captured!" Hermione continued for him. "Every minute we waste is another minute that their lives are in danger and the Death Eaters are another minute closer to finding us. You can't honestly expect us to sit here doing nothing while we could be helping them!"

"We will be doing something, we'll be playing a game," Sydney maintained.

"What's the difference," Hermione muttered.

"I'm not sure you understand how much danger Ron and Michael are in," Harry said.

"Oh, I understand," Sydney replied, "but I also know that we will have no chance of rescuing them unless we come up with a plan that foresees every conceivable possibility. We won't be able to come up with that plan unless we get some sleep first, and I know neither of you will be able to sleep with your heads where they are now, so are we going to play or are we going to sit here all night glaring at each other."

"Fine," Harry said reluctantly.

"Aright," Hermione agreed, "but first thing tomorrow…"

"You've got it," Sydney said. "Now, I'm assuming you're both familiar with the game truth or dare." After both Wizards nodded their suspicious affirmation she continued, "Well, this is kind of like that, except I ask all the questions and choose whether it is a truth or a dare-"

"So it's truth or dare under a dictator," Hermione pointed out.

"Truth or Dare: Voldemort style," Harry coined. "Do we get to overthrow you, too?"

"We have yet to see if she's an evil dictator or not," Hermione replied.

"I've never heard of one that wasn't," Harry said.

"Well, there's bound to be a few…" Hermione stammered.

"Just go with it," Sydney demanded. "Harry, you have the first question. If all you're allowed to do right now is laugh, cry, or scream, which would it be?"

"Scream, I guess," Harry said with a shrug.

"Alright," Sydney continued. "Hermione same question."

"Cry," Hermione replied without hesitation.

"Harry, scream," Sydney dared.

"What?" he asked.

"You said that out of those three things you would scream," Sydney reminded him. "So scream."

Harry looked around desperately for a reason not to, but his best avenue of escape, arguing that he would disturb the neighbors, had already been anticipated and cut off when Sydney asked him to soundproof the place. With nothing else for it, he stood up, took a great breath and yelled at the top of his lungs, as though he was hoping that, if Sydney couldn't be deterred from her strange game, then he could at least break her ear drums. However, when he sat back down, slightly winded, he discovered that both of his companions had stuffed their hands in their ears.

"Nicely done," Sydney said, as though she commonly witnessed people yelling as loud as they could in hotel rooms. "Now Hermione, cry."

Of the two dares, it seemed that Hermione had gotten the more difficult one as she wasn't one to cry on command, or at all, under usual circumstances. She, like Harry, looked desperately around the room for some excuse not to attempt her dare, and, like Harry, came up empty, so she turned away from Harry and Sydney and set herself reluctantly to her task. After a few minutes she had managed only a single tear, but Sydney judged it sufficient and allowed her to stop, handing her a tissue. Harry tried to touch her shoulder in a comforting sort of way, but she shrugged him roughly away, apparently eager to do all she could to banish her newfound weeping image.

"Now Harry," Sydney said, thoughtfully drawing attention away from Hermione. "Did that make you feel better?"

"A little," Harry said with a shrug, as though daring either of them to mention the fact that he found comfort in an expression of anger.

"And Hermione?" Sydney asked.

"Not really," the Witch replied.

"Now both of you, laugh," Sydney commanded.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"You heard me," Sydney replied.

They had, but of all the strange things she had just asked them to do, this seemed to be by far the most ludicrous, for unlike screaming or even crying, genuine laughter required something to be genuinely comical, and a brief glance between the two Wizards confirmed that neither could find such a phenomenon.

"Anyone have a good joke?" Harry asked timidly.

"Oh, you don't see anything funny here?" Sydney said, suddenly taking the air of a schoolteacher. "Well, that's a shame, but I'm not convinced you're looking hard enough."

"Care to get us started?" Hermione muttered.

"Alright," Sydney said thoughtfully. "What about a little while ago when Harry walked in here and immediately lit his wand instead of turning on the lights even though he was raised by Muggles, or how I forgot that the steering wheel is on the right in England. Then there's the fact that during the two minutes the two of you were dancing with each other you stepped on each other's feet at least ten times.

Harry, though still not entirely convinced, and a bit curious about how Sydney could have been close enough to them in that mob at the club to observe such a thing, could not hold back a chuckle not help but add, "what about the two of you coming to my rescue dressed up as old hags."

"And how you thought we actually were old hags," Hermione interjected.

"Don't forget how Michael would always smear his ink because he's left handed," Sydney added.

Before long they were all in stitches, tears of mirth filling their eyes. They continued this way until every breath was agony and they were risking hyperventilation, and even then it took some effort to regain their composure.

Finally, when order was restored, Sydney asked her final question. "Did that make you feel better?"

The response was a resounding "yes."

-------------------------

As usual, Ron and Michael couldn't tell just how much time had passed since their last encounter with a Death Eater, but they had spent most of it in a circular discussion about who had let slip that Michael was a Muggle, reassuring themselves at regular intervals that the conversation was for the eventual purpose of making sure that they didn't make a similar mistake again. However, their argument was complicated by the fact that their entire strategy consisted of denying that Michael was a Muggle, thus limiting themselves to generalities and code words in case the Death Eaters were watching somehow. Furthermore, neither one seemed entirely willing to place the blame on the other nor dismiss Malfoy's allusion to having Harry, Hermione, and Sydney captive as well as mere posturing.

Ron had just gotten done pointing out for the fifteenth time that at least Michael hadn't frozen up at the first sign of an insult. However, Ron suddenly went tense before Michael could remind the Wizard that he was the only one subjected to attacks on his character.

"Oh no," he sighed.

"What?" Michael asked. "What's wrong?"

Ron's only response was to screw up his face in concentration or pain, leading Michael to suspect that he was on the verge of another one of his attacks. However, a second later, the Wizard snapped out of his trance, yelling, "Legilimens!"

Michael narrowly avoided the impulse to write Ron of as momentarily insane in favor of asking, "What?"

"Legilimens! Malfoy can do Legilimens!" Ron cried excitedly.

"That's not what I meant," Michael replied, happy for the moment that he had understood more than half of the words in Ron's last statement. "What is Legilimens?"

"Mind reading!" Ron replied, grasping Michael by the shoulders before deciding that he couldn't contain himself while sitting on the floor, so he stood up and started pacing instead.

"You're saying Malfoy can read minds?" Michael asked.

"Exactly," Ron replied.

"How do you know?" Michael pressed.

"Because it's the only explanation!" Ron exclaimed. "We didn't give anything up and we know it! So how else could Malfoy be so sure about this idea of his unless he read our minds!"

"There must be plenty of other explanations," Michael started.

"But I dare you to come up with one," Ron interrupted, pointing at Michael.

"Fine, assuming Malfoy can do this Legilimens, what can we do about it?" Michael pressed.

"Nothing!" Ron exclaimed, "at least nothing that is guaranteed to work, since I don't have my wand, but Harry had to study Occlumency in our fifth year. He said he always had to keep his mind blank."

"Wait, what's Occlumency?" Michael asked.

"Defense against mind reading," Ron replied, as the door burst open and Lucius Malfoy stepped inside, followed by a herd of Death Eaters.

"Keep your mind blank," Ron whispered as he dropped immediately to the floor and assumed the most relaxed position his adrenaline laced system would allow.

"I'm prepared to make a deal with you, Mr. Dorin," Malfoy said.

Ron was expecting to see one of the Death Eaters step forward. It wasn't until Michael spoke that he remembered Dorin was the name he'd given to his captors.

"What sort of deal would that be?"

"Wait," Ron demanded. "Any deal should go through me."

"Tut, tut, Mr. Weasley," Malfoy said patronizingly. "Can't you see the adults are talking? Unless, of course, you'd like to explain exactly why Mr. Dorin shouldn't be included in this negotiation."

The allusion to Michael's magical ability was so blatant that Ron shook his head before he realized that he could have cited his superior experience in dealing with Death Eaters.

"I'm curious to see you prove that you are a Wizard as you claim," Malfoy explained, motioning for one of his cronies to step forward. The man's knees were buckling under the weight of a large chest. "This box is magically sealed. Within is a large meal. It is yours if you can open it."

"What's in it for you?" Michael asked, feeling quite certain that this deal was not to be taken at face value.

"Only the satisfaction of my curiosity," Malfoy replied with a smirk. "And, if you fail, Mr. Weasley will die."

Several Death Eaters looked particularly happy to hear this. Ron gave a sharp gasp.

"And if I refuse to play along?" Michael asked coolly.

"Then you will both die," Malfoy replied.

Several more Death Eaters perked up.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut in resignation, then opened them again to catch Ron's gaze. The Wizard simply nodded once, resigned to his fate if it meant that one of them might survive, then maintained the look a second longer before Michael turned away.

"Alright," Michael said, "I'm ready."

"Very well," Malfoy replied, pulling a wand out of an inner pocket and handing it to Michael.

"You're giving me my wand back?" Michael asked incredulously.

"How else do you expect to open the box?" Malfoy said, his sardonic smirk suddenly gathering new life. "At least, I assume it is your wand, yours and Mr. Weasley's are very similar, almost identical, in fact. At any rate, I don't believe you'll be causing us much trouble. The box, if you please."

Michael took a steadying breath and rolled the wand between his sweaty palms. No matter how he looked at it, there was no way he could open this box, and there was no way he could save Ron. He knew that by playing Malfoy's game he would prevent both of them from dying, but cursed the cruel fate that would kill Ron when Michael failed. Finally, Michael raised the wand, waved it as Hermione had taught him and said, "Alohomora!"

The chest in front of him clicked open.

The collective jaws of those in the room went slack, but none so much as Michael's. He stared disbelievingly at the wand in his hand. After a moment of incomprehension, Malfoy snatched the wand out of Michael's limp grip and left abruptly, sweeping the rest of the Death Eaters out along with him.

Michael and Ron remained exactly as they were for at least a minute, each attempting to comprehend what had just happened and neither with much success.

Finally, the silence was broken when Ron's stomach growled loudly and they both fell upon the food in the chest, simultaneously demanding of each other, "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Michael replied first, pulling out a large apple.

"Me either!" Ron said, smiling ecstatically as he located a shepherd's pie

They realized that neither of them had consciously done anything to rescue themselves from the situation, but couldn't put off talking about it until they had finished eating. After all, aside from earning themselves a meal, they had no doubt only increased Malfoy's wrath. There was no telling when he would come back, nor if they would live for very long afterwards. Anything they were going to figure out had to be done as quickly as possible.

"'oo ya 'ave any magigal rela'ives?" Ron slurred around a rather larger bite than was truly wise to eat all at once, much less talk with.

Michael took a thoughtful swig of pumpkin juice while he decoded Ron's question, then replied, "Not that I know of. You didn't touch me or anything, did you?"

"No," Ron said, fortunately remembering to swallow first. "Very strange."

"No kidding," Michael agreed. "And you've never heard of Muggles being able to do magic?"

"Well, then they wouldn't be Muggles anymore, would they?" Ron pointed out, a small dollop of pudding dripping out of his mouth as he spoke. He caught it with a napkin and continued, "Did you feel like you were doing magic?"

"I guess I don't know what doing magic feels like," Michael pointed out stifling a hiccup, "but I didn't feel any different."

After a few minutes of solid eating, Michael suggested, "We should probably save the rest, in case they decide to stop feeding us again."

Ron nodded reluctantly and forced himself away from the chest, but Michael added, "We should also hide the food, they'll probably come back some time and take the box."

They set themselves against their task, locating empty nooks and crannies within the bookshelves and stuffing them with sandwiches, drinks, and fruit. Only when the last of their well earned feast had been stowed did Ron finally say, "Nice spell work, anyway."

"Thanks," Michael replied with a skeptical shrug.

A moment later, all light in the room was extinguished, not even a star was visible through the window. All was pitch black.

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Author's Note: Many thanks to potter-me and charmedgal005for the reviews. To everyone else, please leave a review, I'd love to see what you think of the story.


	17. Keep Right On

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, those one things, those one other things, and, you know, the thing that does that one thing are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Find Your Grail" from the Broadway show Spamalot, written and composed by Eric Idle and John Du Prez.

To potter-me and charmedgal005, thanks for reviewing and being intrigued with Michael's situation. I guarantee that what actually happened is not what you think, but it will take the characters several chapters for figure it out.

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**Chapter 17: Keep Right On**

The configuration of the hotel room had caused some difficulties for Harry, Hermione, and Sydney when it came time to divide up sleeping arrangements, as they were short one bed. When Sydney was reserving the room, there hadn't been one with two large beds available, so she'd gotten one with two one person beds. Harry, acting the gentlemen, had offered to sleep on the floor, a proposition Hermione and Sydney accepted on the condition that they would alternate who had to suffer that discomfort should they remain at the hotel for more than one night.

That decided, they turned in, Sydney and Hermione passing Harry whatever bedding they could, until he had created a nest of sorts in the narrow space between the wall and Hermione's bed. The nest looked deceptively comfortable from the outside, which became readily apparent as soon as the lights were extinguished, for the two women were frequently disturbed by the rustlings of a Wizard, searching for an apparently nonexistent position of sufficient comfort to fall asleep in.

Hermione had just started considering silencing her offending neighbor with a stunning spell when the source of her annoyance finally stopped, replaced by the slow breathing of one asleep. A few minutes later, Hermione nodded off as well.

Harry had never been one to sleep on his stomach, but for some reason (he was quick to blame the nest) that was how he awoke the next morning. This was, in fact, an extremely lucky occurrence, for it wasn't any crick in his neck that woke him, nor an alarm clock. Instead, he jerked awake when Hermione, groggy and disoriented in an unfamiliar place, got off her bed in the wrong direction and stood up with one foot on his back and the other pinning down his arm near the elbow. It was a mark of her exhaustion that she didn't realize what had happened until Harry's back gave a loud crack from underneath her foot, coupled with a groan from the Wizard himself. With a stifled yelp, Hermione sat back on her bed then carefully helped Harry up to join her, simultaneously inquiring into his health and apologizing profusely without allowing him time to answer.

When Hermione finally paused long enough to let Harry speak, he managed to convey the idea that he was fine. In fact, he was rather enjoying the effects of Hermione's impromptu foray into the world of chiropractors, although he wouldn't have minded a little warning. Ironically, it seemed the greater damage was to his elbow. She must have stepped on his funny bone, for after a brief period of numbness, his forearm was subjected to a nasty fight with a set of pins and needles. Hermione, however, was not satisfied, but when she attempted to turn to Sydney for advice, she discovered that the Muggle had been absent the entire time.

A prickle of fear coursed through them and they jumped to their feet, Hermione's concern for Harry either forgotten or satiated by his sudden display of mobility. After a brief and fruitless search of the adjoining bathroom, they got dressed, grabbed their wands, and darted out of the hallway and to the parking lot.

"The car's gone," Hermione observed.

"So either she went somewhere," Harry started.

"…or someone took her and the car," Hermione finished pessimistically.

"This is Sydney we're talking about," Harry reminded her, "she would have put up a fight."

"Maybe they grabbed her while we were all asleep," Hermione sighed. "Otherwise she would have left us a note."

"Maybe she did," Harry pointed out. "I wasn't looking for a note. Were you looking for signs of a fight?"

Hermione shrugged her response and moved back to the outside door, clearly intending to head back to the room and check their theories, but her heart sank when she reached the door and plummeted when she jiggled the handle and nothing happened. She and Harry checked their pockets for the key but came up empty. They didn't have a problem, of course: they had learned how to unlock doors such as these in their first year at Hogwarts, but they'd both been hoping to go at least an hour without using magic, especially considering their vicinity to Muggles. Nevertheless, their situation was dire, and after an unspoken agreement, Harry pulled out his wand and aimed it at the doorknob while Hermione stood watch.

However, before Harry had a chance to complete the spell there was a sudden eruption of sound and light around them in the form of the hotel's fire alarm. No sooner had the startled Harry pocketed his wand than Muggles began spilling through the door, most still in their nightclothes and dragging half closed suitcases. Sighing, Harry and Hermione moved away from the building with the rest of the crowd, cursing the bad luck which seemed to haven taken a special interest in them that morning.

"Maybe someone just pulled the alarm by accident," Harry suggested hopefully.

"I doubt it," Hermione muttered, pointing upward.

Harry followed her gaze to a pillar of black smoke emanating from the upper story of a nearby wing of the hotel.

Hermione cut off his string of swear words by whispering, "We need to get our things."

Harry immediately saw her point. That room contained all their necessary possessions, and even more importantly, all the information they had on Malfoy and the Death Eaters. There was also the fact that both Harry and Hermione still had some artifacts unique to the magical world in their packs, and Sydney had some CIA issue equipment, all of which was sure to cause suspicion if found among the rubble. Actually retrieving their belongings would be difficult, however, not because of the locked door or the fire, but because of the nervous crowd of Muggles milling about. On the other hand, judging by the smoke, the fire seemed to be spreading rapidly. Apparently, they had no choice but to risk the crowd and modify any memories they needed to afterward.

Harry and Hermione started moving discretely toward the outside door. A few people half heartedly tried to remind them of the danger of going into a burning building, but the rest didn't seem to notice or care and they reached the door without incident. Hermione carefully pulled out her wand and unlocked the door, allowing them to slip inside.

Two things became immediately obvious. The first was that the hotel's sprinkler system had been activated: they were drenched immediately. Secondly, despite that, the interior of the hotel was noticeably warmer than it had been when they left. With no time to lose, Hermione opened the door to their room and they gathered up their belongings and Sydney's, stuffing it all into whatever bag was closest. It was the work of a moment, not only had they not brought much, but most of it was still packed, although they both performed a second sweep of the room to make sure that Sydney hadn't concealed any of her equipment.

The pair was just about to leave when they heard a moan and a loud thump from somewhere above them and their already adrenaline laced bloodstreams became saturated.

"That sounded like a person," Harry said.

"I suppose," Hermione replied, a bit more cautiously.

"Well, we've got to do something," Harry pointed out. "Together we could put out this entire fire."

"But we can't," Hermione reminded him.

"Why not, we've got the power," Harry demanded, already raising his wand.

"Because of the statue of Wizard Secrecy," Hermione pointed out. "Do you know how many Muggles we'd have to Obliviate if we put out this fire?"

"Damn the statue!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm not going to stand by and let an innocent person die!"

"I'm not entirely convinced that was a person!" Hermione retorted.

"You heard it!" Harry cried. "Now you're telling me that you've changed your mind?"

"You can't tell me there isn't anything odd about this!" Hermione exclaimed. "We wake up and Sydney's gone, just as we go outside a fire starts. There must be sprinklers like these all over the hotel but it's still getting hotter by the minute, and just as we're about to leave there's a sudden reason for us to stay! The alarm went off five minutes ago and I still haven't heard a fire truck. I'd be surprised if the Death Eaters _weren't_ involved in this."

"You think the Death Eaters found out we're here and did this on purpose?" Harry demanded.

"I dare you to find a reason why that couldn't explain all this," Hermione replied.

"Alright," Harry said, moving to the table near the door. "Look, Sydney did leave us a note." However, he discovered that the water had completely erased the message and not even a revealing charm could resurrect it.

"This could have been a ransom note for all we know!" Hermione pointed out. "Harry, we can't risk it!"

"We don't have time to debate this right now," Harry replied. "If you're not going to help me put out this fire then I'm going upstairs to find that person, I'll meet you back outside afterwards."

"It's tragic, yes," Hermione said, cutting him off, "but there are bigger things at stake here. We need you."

"I served my purpose by killing Voldemort and you know it," Harry said, brushing past her, heading in the direction of the bathroom.

"We need you because Ron is killed or captured somewhere," Hermione yelled. She paused for a moment, seething, then added, "and it's your fault!"

Harry hesitated. He hadn't expected her to say that, and knew that any attempt to deny her accusation would be a lie, so instead he turned around, muttered a sorrowful, "Exactly," then continued on his way.

If Hermione attempted a response to this, Harry didn't hear it, for he cast the bubble-head charm on himself then set about cutting a careful hole in the ceiling near the sink. Hermione must have left sometime while he was working, because by the time Harry had completed the hole she had disappeared, along with the bags by the door. Not paying her much thought, Harry climbed onto the sink then up into the floor above.

The room he entered was almost identical to the one he'd just left, except that it lacked the pool of water that he and Hermione had been fording, or any water at all, and the air from the ceiling to his knees was obscured with black smoke. Aware that the only spell he knew that would solve this visual impairment by displacing all the smoke around him would be too noticeable to the Muggles outside, Harry instead dropped to his hands and knees, and after a brief search of the room, he moved to the hallway, where he got his first actual glimpse of the fire that was ripping apart the hotel, about twenty meters away and approaching rapidly.

Harry hadn't associated a direction with the sound he'd heard, so he was at a loss as to where to search next. Ignoring his better judgment in favor of common sense, Harry decided to search the rooms closest to the fire first, knowing that he would lose access to them quickly. The first two rooms were empty and the fire was working much faster than he was, so Harry pushed his search to a frantic pace.

"Where are you!" he called desperately, knowing it was_ useless. He'd watched that fight, seen that fall. There was no way Lupin was in any fit state to respond. Ron and Hermione were following behind him, their attempts to remind him that his responsibility was to finding Voldemort thwarted by their own desires to find and help their old professor._

_At last, Harry turned a corner and nearly stumbled over Lupin's prone form. The former professor groaned as Harry's wayward foot accidentally jostled him into consciousness. Lupin was lying in a pool of his own blood, which was being continually augmented by the blood leaking out of his nose, mouth, ears, and neck. His legs were lying at very strange angles, but he didn't seem at all equal to rearranging them. Harry's knowledge of healing spells were limited and he was afraid to try any of them, and Ron and Hermione seemed to be of a similar mind, but they weren't about to leave, either._

"_Professor? Professor Lupin?" Harry asked gently as Ron came up alongside him. Hermione seemed unable to come closer and instead hovered a short distance away, apparently prepared to defend the scene against all comers._

"_Harry?" Lupin coughed weakly, spitting out a bit of blood, "you shouldn't be here. You have to go. Everyone's counting on you."_

"_Everyone can wait," Harry replied firmly. He couldn't let the closest person he had to a true uncle die alone, even if it put the mission in danger, and he knew the folly of this line of thought just as much as he knew it was the only way things could be._

_Lupin seemed to realize this as well and changed the subject, saying, "Your father would be proud of you."_

_Whether Lupin had intended it or not, his statement robbed Harry of words. It was all the young Wizard could do to mutter an embarrassed, "Thanks."_

"_I can't count the number of times I have been amazed by the ingenuity of all three of you," Lupin continued. "Together, there is nothing that can stop you."_

_Suddenly, Lupin grabbed Harry by the shoulder and Ron by the forearm and groaned, "Help her!" then he relaxed and his arms dropped to the floor._

"_Wait!" Harry cried, carefully shaking Lupin's shoulder. "Come back! Help who?"_

_Suddenly, Hermione made her presence known behind them, saying, "There's a group of Death Eaters coming."_

_Desperately, Harry turned back to their deceased professor, shaking him more vigorously and demanding an answer to his dying riddle, until Ron pulled him off, crying "It's no use, mate, he's gone. We've got to go."_

"_We can't just leave him here," Harry sobbed._

"_We don't have a choice," Hermione pointed out as the sound of approaching Death Eaters took a sudden crescendo._

_As a knot of intertwined arms and support, the group managed to disappear mere seconds before Lupin's body was discovered by the Death Eaters,_ and just before Harry would have had to give up his search, he found his quarry, a middle aged woman, half draped over her bed.

The situation now growing desperate, Harry pulled her down, cast a bubble head charm on her as well, and crawled off as quickly as he could with his burden draped over his back.

Harry had long since lost track of exactly which room contained the hole leading back to the ground floor and had no time to spare for searching, so he made instead for the nearest stairwell.

His progress was slow and the fire's fast, so before he was even halfway to the staircase, he was facing the very real risk of being overtaken. With nothing else for it, he stood up, dragging his ward along by the arms and extinguishing sections of the fire whenever they became too threatening. He was blinded by the smoke and thus reduced to feeling his way with his feet, but his speed was nevertheless increased. Several times he judged that he must have reached his destination and risked exposing himself to the Muggles and increasing the fire's wrath by blowing air out of his wand and clearing the immediate area of smoke, only to discover that he still had some distance to travel.

Harry felt like he'd been going on this way for much longer than he should have, and it occurred to him that he might have, in fact, passed his destination accidentally, causing a wave of panic to well up within him. Finally, he resorted to trying doorknobs randomly, knowing that if he didn't find the staircase it would likely take too long to cut another hole in the floor. On the third door he tried he finally found what he had been searching for. Heaving an echoed sigh of relief within his bubble-head charm and, lifting the increasingly heavy woman higher on his back, Harry started down the stairs.

Unfortunately, when Harry was only a few steps down, the woman's feet slipped unexpectedly off the top step and all her weight fell on him. Harry staggered and tried to recover, but he lost his footing on the stairs and fell, hitting his head on the banister and rolling down to the platform. _He heard the spells, they came from all around him, and in the split second it took for magic to travel from attacker to victim, Harry determined that he'd been led into a trap. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, cover was nowhere to be found. Then they struck._

The ground seemed very far away.

The woman landed on top of him, forcing the air from his lungs. The bubble-head charm flickered and died around him, leaving him exposed to the toxic atmosphere.

_He could feel the energy being drained from his body. Every second was a battle to stay conscious, and every battle drained the energy he no longer had._

The floor was warm…

…_and cold…_

…a_n_d _h_a_r_d…

_it felt like he was being crushed…no_

it felt like he was being crushed

Where's Hermione?

_he couldn't breathe_

there was no air

_he couldn't move_

he couldn't stay awake

Where's Hermione?

_there was no way in_

there was no way out

_he couldn't stay awake_

he was going…_to_…

"Harry!"

The voice came from above somewhere, but he couldn't recognize it. It sounded as though whoever was trying to speak with him was on the other side of a door and surrounded by thick fog.

"Harry, come on, wake up!"

Breathing was easier than the last time he remembered trying it, although he wasn't sure why. There were other sounds than the person speaking to him, loud, frightening sounds, at least they would have been if he was awake enough to realize it.

"Ennervate! Come on, stay awake! I can't carry you both!"

Things suddenly became much clearer, and with that clarity came a pounding headache, but even more troublesome was the fact that someone was shaking him.

"Stop, what's wrong?" Harry slurred.

"Harry! You're alright!" his assailant cried.

This was news to him. The last time he'd checked, things hadn't been looking good at all, although he was having some difficulty remembering whether the threat was in the form of a spell or a fire.

"We've got to go, the fire!"

So, fire then, but where had all the spells come from? On a slightly less confusing note, Harry had come to the conclusion that Hermione was his rescuer. Even though his vision was still blurry, she was the only person he knew capable of ordering people around like that.

Hermione pulled him to his feet, but as she released him to see to the woman he'd rescued, his legs nearly gave out from under him. He grabbed onto the banister for support, but he didn't expect to remain standing for long, his arms weren't in much better shape than his legs. Changing strategies, Hermione cast a levitation spell on their unconscious charge then threw Harry's arm over her own shoulder and they scrambled down the rest of the stairs. As they approached the exit, Hermione forced Harry back under his own power and took the weight of the rescued woman onto her back instead, then removed the bubble-head charms from all three of them. A second later they had delivered themselves into the arms of the newly arrived firemen.

Thoroughly surprised at finding those who had needed rescuing able to get themselves out of a fire such as this, the firemen guided them, singed and dirty, to a group of medics.

Harry was being helped onto a gurney when suddenly Hermione came out of apparently nowhere and pulled him into a hug, crying, "Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you're okay!"

His senses befuddled by smoke inhalation, it took Harry some time to realize that her sporadic show of affection had in fact been an elaborate scheme, allowing her to take his wand without anyone else noticing.

His mind and eyesight growing slowly sharper as he breathed pure oxygen through a mask, Harry took a moment to marvel at Hermione's intuitiveness. There was no doubt that in his present state he was in no condition to ensure the secrecy of the Wizarding race, but as long as she had his wand, anything detrimental he might say could be written off as the effects of oxygen deprivation. As the most lucid among the three of them, Hermione was being questioned by the fire chief about several abnormalities in their conditions, any of which could have exposed them as Wizards, but which she answered as though she'd been expecting them.

"Why isn't there any soot on your faces?"

"Maybe we sweated it all off."

"Why isn't anyone burned?"

"Luck, I suppose."

Harry glanced into the watching crowd and saw that Sydney had returned. She was hovering in the background, a bag of food in hand. She was doing a fair job of blending into the crowd, but she was too concerned about Harry and Hermione to put on an entirely convincing performance for someone who knew her.

Suddenly, a man dropped a bag of groceries, rushed out of the crowd and to the side of the woman Harry had rescued, who was just beginning to stir. He started asking a million questions of the medics and not allowing them time to answer. They tried to reassure him that the situation was under control and his presence was only hindering their work, but he seemed reluctant to listen. He was finally convinced to back off after the woman whispered a few words to him, and he took to pacing around the gurneys, alternating between running his hands through his hair and fiddling with the ring on his left hand.

Finally, he walked over to Harry and asked, "Are you the kid who saved my wife?"

Even though it made his head swim, Harry pulled the mask away from his face so he could answer unobstructed, then said, "Yes."

The man seemed satisfied for a moment, then turned back to Harry and pressed, "Did you happen to see a dog while you were in there?" He seemed close to tears, but was valiantly trying to hold them back.

"No," Harry replied warily.

"A golden retriever, full grown," the man continued, "he might have been wearing a harness."

"No," Harry said again. He could feel the situation growing more precarious by the second.

The man nodded and turned back toward his wife, but a second later Harry was on the ground. The man had flipped over his gurney then started pounding him into the pavement, yelling, "You let him die! That dog was like my son, and he was her eyes. Megan said he tried to rescue her. You could have saved him too, but you let him die! She's known him longer than she's known me. How am I supposed to tell her that her life long companion is dead?"

Harry didn't even attempt to defend himself against the onslaught, in fact, he much preferred the physical pain of the thrashing he was receiving to facing his own emotions undistracted.

He didn't make any attempt to move when the man was pulled off of him nor when he was lifted back onto his righted gurney, causing the medics some concern. He voiced no objections as they checked him for broken bones or unusual bruises and bandaged his cuts. In fact, it wasn't until they pronounced him fit to leave that he could help himself no longer and he sat up and buried his head in his knees, hoping to hide his tears.

Harry couldn't believe he hadn't checked the room more thoroughly. He would have throttled the person who allowed Hedwig to remain trapped in a fire. What's more, it seemed that dog was more of a hero than he had ever been; he had shown absolute loyalty. A similar situation that had called upon Harry to act the hero had ended quite differently.

When Harry finally decided that his emotional state was no longer such a threat to his dignity, he stood up, cleaned his glasses, and began walking toward Hermione. However, his path took him very close to the husband of the woman he'd saved, being held in check by a nearby police officer.

As Harry walked by he muttered, "I'm sorry," to him, then after a glance at his assailant he added, "My parents died in a fire when I was one." It wasn't the reason for his current state, it wasn't even really the truth, but the man deserved some explanation.

It was nearly noon by the time Harry and Hermione managed to retreat to the car to sit in silence while Sydney saw to a refund for the hotel room. They took turns closing their eyes and changing out of their sooty pajamas. When they were both dressed, Hermione pulled a granola bar out of Sydney's grocery bag and attempted to nibble at it, but after only a few bites she gagged and only narrowly managed to swallow. After that she decided not to risk it anymore. Harry didn't even bother trying. He felt ready to throw up already.

Eventually, Sydney returned and they set off, neither Witch nor Wizard inquiring into their destination. Every once in a while Hermione or Sydney tried to strike up a conversation, but it always died out within a minute. Harry, on the other hand, remained utterly silent, except the occasional request that the volume of the radio be increased, hoping that he wouldn't be able to hear his own thoughts if the music was loud enough, but it seemed useless.

He couldn't stop being angry with himself for not thinking to check the rest of the room. No person unfettered by a disability should have taken that long to evacuate a burning building. It shouldn't have been hard to guess that she might have been blind and required the aid of a seeing-eye dog. How many other people died because he stopped the search after finding one person? He should have kept going. How could he have been so stupid?

Then there was the matter of Professor Lupin. Harry couldn't explain why Lupin had occurred to him while he was searching for the woman, but he could scarcely stop thinking about him now either.

Lupin, the last of the Marauders. One of the closest things Harry had to a family member after Sirius died. It was inevitable that he and Pettigrew would butt heads one last time, and just as inevitable that Pettigrew would come out on top. Lupin had suspected this, ever since Harry mentioned that Pettigrew had been given a silver hand. Silver kills werewolves. Hermione knew it too, but she didn't say anything. It took Harry a long time to forgive her for that, longer than it should have. She'd had their best interests at heart, after all, even if the application was misguided.

Among the greatest agonies of it all was the fact that Lupin hadn't died when Harry, Ron, and Hermione thought he had, not by a long shot. Instead, selfless to the end, Lupin had pretended to die prematurely, knowing it was the only way to convince the group to move on with their mission. He had died alone after almost five hours of suffering, something that the group had only found out when the Healer's predicted the time of his death to be much later than when the trio had encountered him after his fateful fight with Wormtail. Harry had yet to forgive himself for not checking for a pulse.

After Lupin died, Harry knew that Ron would be next in an attempt to bring down Pettigrew. That was inevitable as well. Without Lupin's inherent weakness against the man, and a working knowledge of everything that broke Pettigrew down, it was quite possible that Ron would succeed. But he didn't, or, more accurately, he hadn't gotten the chance. Harry and Ron had been running down a hallway. They knew they were close to Voldemort, and in their anticipation they let their guard drop, and were taken down. Everything fell apart. Ron was bound and gagged and left in a closet, the Death Eaters didn't seem concerned about him. After all, in a few minutes, the whole resistance would no longer be a problem, because in a few minutes Harry would be lying unconscious on the floor at Voldemort's feet, and then Voldemort would kill him, once and for all. Then he would be unstoppable.

"All right, what's really wrong?" Sydney demanded suddenly.

"What?" Harry asked blearily after he concluded that she was, in fact, talking to him.

"Don't give me that," Sydney replied. "It's obvious that something's bothering you."

Harry swore under his breath. He'd known playing dumb wouldn't last long, but that was ridiculous. "It's complicated," he tried.

"Fine," Sydney exclaimed. "You have some skeletons in your closet, everyone does."

"But mine are in the form of my parents and Cedric and Sirius and Dumbledore and Snape and Lupin, and they've still got skin and muscle and gore that's peeling off the bone and wide blank eyes that stare me down, and they always make a racket and keep me up at night," Harry replied, surprised to find himself slightly out of breath after his tirade.

"Then I suggest you either learn to live with them or get them out," Sydney said.

"I don't know how," Harry admitted.

"You might want to start with a trash can, then maybe a broom," Sydney explained.

"What?" Harry asked, supposing he'd missed when the conversation suddenly switched from the metaphorical to the literal.

"The way I hear it, you saved the Wizarding race, maybe even the entire world," Sydney said.

"That's not all there is to it," Harry muttered.

"Then what else happened?" Sydney demanded. "You're supposed to be a hero, Harry."

"I'm no better than anybody else," Harry replied.

"Maybe not," Sydney admitted, although she seemed to think the point was arguable, "but you're no worse either.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Harry muttered. "If I'm a hero, then why do I feel so terrible about it?"

"Why don't you just take one second and bask in your accomplishments?" Sydney asked vehemently.

"Hermione, how much do you know about the CIA?" Harry said, banking on the fact that she'd probably done all the research she could after learning the origin of their colleagues.

"Not a lot," she admitted.

"Tell me everything you know about its secrecy," Harry demanded before the Witch could elaborate on just how much she didn't know.

"Alright," Hermione started. "The actual existence of the Central Intelligence Agency is well known, but the specific nature of its work is considered top secret, as is the identity of its agents-"

"Stop!" Harry commanded, eying Sydney. "Is that what this is about? You can't take credit for your work so you're trying to get it vicariously through me?"

"That's not it at all!" Sydney yelled.

But Harry was through listening. "You think its easy being a hero? Why don't you just try it! I never wanted this kind of life– I don't even remember the first time I faced Voldemort. Every time someone looks at my scar I wish I could just dig a hole in the ground and live there, but I can't because the bad guys keep coming back and everyone expects me to stop them, and this is never going to stop!"

Sydney took advantage of the fact that Harry was slightly out of breath from his rant and said, "You think I don't know what its like? I never wanted this kind of life either!"

"Oh, somebody make a prophecy about you too?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"Yes, actually," Sydney replied sharply. "And even more important than that, I was conditioned to be a spy when I was a kid!"

"Voldemort killed my parents!"

"SD-6 killed my fiancé!"

"Stop it!" Hermione screamed. "We're all in this together, and we all have the same goal, to bring down the Death Eaters and free Ron and Michael. Every moment we spend arguing makes it more likely that the Death Eaters will find some advantage over us, and then we won't stand a chance. Agreed?"

They both reluctantly nodded their assent.

"Harry?" Sydney asked after a pause. "I think I owe you an explanation."

He had half a mind to start yelling at her again, but the other half, which happened to agree with Hermione, won out, and he waited for her to continue.

"I don't envy you for your fame," Sydney began. "I don't like my line of work any more than you like yours. I envy the fact that your friends are right there with you, because that's the hardest part of my job, having to lie to my friends."

For a second Harry thought he saw a hint of concern behind Sydney's eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone. "What about Michael?" he asked.

"That's true, I can talk to him, but I do have a life outside the CIA, although not much of one," Sydney admitted. "What I was trying to get at was the way you never seem to talk about anything that happened. After all the time I've known you I haven't learned anything about when you killed Voldemort except what was in your file."

"Now that isn't a very pleasant topic," Harry said euphemistically.

"So you'd rather focus on pleasantries rather than reality?" Sydney asked.

"Wasn't that the point of the game last night?" Harry asked.

"That was to help you see the bright side of every situation, not ignore the bad parts completely, especially when you have time to deal with it," Sydney clarified.

"I have dealt with it," Harry replied, knowing it wasn't true. It would have been more accurate if he'd said he thought he'd dealt with it, but the evidence against that assessment was mounting.

"Prove it," Sydney said.

That was the very thing he'd been hoping she wouldn't say. "I've been waiting for Hermione to bring it up," Harry improvised, knowing that too was a lie, and hoping Hermione would be willing to pick up some slack for him. Contrary to what he'd expected, he heard a sharp gasp from Hermione's direction.

"Why don't you just talk about it now, then," Sydney suggested, pulling into a parking lot near a playground. "There's obviously something going on here that I don't know about."

She was correct, as usual, but neither Harry nor Hermione made any attempt to confirm her suspicion.

"You never talk about it at all?" Sydney demanded. "I can understand if you don't want to talk in front of me. I wasn't there, but you both were. I don't know what happened and I'm not going to bother guessing, but whatever it is, it's eating you up inside, and the fact that you won't even talk about it does not help. Trust me, I know. You need to face it and move on, because you can't stay where you are."

"You want to hear what happened?" Harry yelled. "I've been fighting Voldemort for almost my entire life because I was the only person in the world who could stop him. Everyone keeps telling me that over the past seven years I've witnessed more horrors and atrocities than anyone should have to in a lifetime, but no one cares to tell me what I'm supposed to do now that it's over. In the final battle, Snape, Lupin, and almost all of the Aurors in the Ministry died to make sure I could get to Voldemort, and I failed them. If it hadn't been for Ron…" He trailed off.

"What about Ron? What did he do?" Sydney demanded. Hermione looked equally interested, but Harry had finished talking.

"You really don't know what happened?" Sydney observed, turning to Hermione.

"I told you, I wasn't there, Ron doesn't remember and Harry won't talk about it," Hermione replied, as Harry, hoping to escape, got out of the car and started walking towards the park.

"Haven't you ever asked him about it?" Sydney asked, watching Harry leave.

"Well, no," Hermione admitted. "He'll tell us when he wants to. You've got to understand, he's been fighting Voldemort longer than any of us. He has his own way of dealing with things and it works for him as long as we leave him alone."

"Oh, no, I don't think so," Sydney said, jumping out of the car to chase down Harry and dragging Hermione along with her. When they caught up, Sydney exclaimed, "Alright, whatever happened, it's driving you insane. Now, you've both got to pull yourselves together and finish this job. If you're not going to talk about it, that's none of my business, but the way things are going now, we're never going to stop history from repeating itself."

Sydney hadn't intended for her words to be especially biting, merely eye-opening, so it was with some surprise that she observed poorly masked flashes of fear, anger, pain, and misery behind Harry's eyes. At this point, she would have welcomed any sort of outburst of emotion from the Wizard, so it was much to her annoyance that Harry simply shrugged away from them once again, muttering some lame excuse about having "stuff to do."

When he'd said that, Harry had been using rather broad definitions off the words "stuff" and "do." In fact, he hadn't meant much by it at all except as a means to secure some solitude. He wandered aimlessly around the playground for a minute, only realizing that such solitude would probably exist in the men's restroom after he'd already passed it, so he located another suitable refuge, a chain link fence encircling the playground, and sat down against it.

Without intending to, he found himself watching the children at play and marveling at their innocence. They knew nothing of the terror Harry had so narrowly averted a few months previous, and, in all likelihood, little more about the problems in their own Muggle world. Their main concern consisted of wondering who would be tagged "it" next, or whether or not anyone else had discovered their super secret hiding spot. Harry had been robbed of that innocence and simplicity so early in his life that he could scarcely imagine what it was like to live with it. His earliest memories were of avoiding or receiving Dudley's numerous poundings, unless the infantile memory of his parents' murders was to be counted.

Attempting to rid his mind of this line of thought, Harry hit his head against the fence behind him, quite forgetting that the spot he'd chosen also sported a hard metal pole. Thus, the act had achieved the desired effect, something he considered a worthy exchange for the throbbing pain he now felt. Absently, he stretched out an arm to the ground below and grabbed up a handful of dirt, then watched as it sifted through his fingers and _into the grave below._

_Slowly, Harry straightened up and stepped back to where Ron and Hermione were standing. Ron was hugging Hermione around the shoulders with his left arm while she held him around the middle, carefully avoiding his heavily bandaged right arm, which hung limply at his side. Tears made their way slowly down Hermione's face and Ron's eyes were red and blotchy. Harry's glasses kept fogging up, and he had long since given up trying to keep them clear. Around them were other Hogwarts students and staff along with a few members of the Ministry and Wizarding community, all dressed in black and in similar states of grief._

"_It was a beautiful eulogy, Harry," Hermione said, her voice taking on a pitiful quiver._

"_Lupin deserved better than that," Harry sighed. "They should've picked someone else, waited to find Tonks, or somebody. Nothing I could have said would ever do him justice."_

"_Nothing anyone could have said would do that," Ron replied. "They picked the right person."_

"_I hope so," Harry said._

"_What do we do now?" Hermione asked._

"_I don't know," Harry shrugged, "help rebuild, I guess."_

"_I meant about the three of us," Hermione clarified, carefully. "How do we just move on from something like this? We've been fighting this war for seven years, and now its over."_

"_I don't know," Harry repeated. "I don't have all the answers. I never did."_

_If anything, Hermione looked even more downcast than before._

"Harry?" someone called. "Harry!"

Harry found himself back on the ground against the fence, staring up into Hermione's concerned face.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You haven't even moved for almost half an hour."

"Yes, I'm fine," Harry replied curtly. "Thanks."

"You sure?" Hermione pressed, eyeing him warily.

"Yes, really," Harry said, allowing a hint of annoyance into his voice.

"Sydney says we should get going," Hermione said. "She got a map while you were over here. She thinks she found a good place to stay the night."

"Alright," Harry said as he got to his feet.

While he and Hermione caught up with Sydney and they all started walking, but the two women turned away from the parking lot and down the sidewalk.

"What about the car?" Harry asked.

"I called the CIA office in London, they're going to take care of it," Sydney replied. "I thought it was best if we change transportation for awhile."

Harry nodded and marveled at the Muggle's efficiency. She seemed to have things covered remarkably well, better than he did at the very least. This revelation came with a sharp pang. After all, until very recently, it had been him who was most on top of any plan and most willing to go into battle. However, it seemed that he could no longer deny the fact that he was rapidly losing touch with his friends and allies, the pace of which was only matched by the rate at which he was losing control of his own mind. There was no other explanation for it, after all. Why else would it persist in forcing him to relive some of the most terrible memories of his life, created during a battle which he wished had never happened. He wasn't entirely sure what to call them, flashbacks, living memories, maybe, or the bane of his existence, but there was no denying them anymore.

He'd been able to write them off easily enough at first- the nightmares which had plagued his summer were no different from those which had haunted most of his life, and, aside from being disturbing and sleep depriving, they didn't cause him any trouble. Even when they had started invading his waking hours, he hadn't let them bother him. After all, who was to say he hadn't simply nodded off all those times; falling asleep at random intervals was a trademark of narcolepsy, not insanity.

However, that particular theory was quickly losing credibility as well. He hadn't fallen asleep in that burning hotel, not while having the flashback about Lupin. Even when he was knocked out on the stairs, that flashback had started making a nuisance of itself a few seconds before then. He supposed that he might have been more or less catatonic when Hermione had come and fetched him a few minutes earlier, but he hadn't started out that way. He distinctly remembered sifting dirt through his hand when the thing started. It was almost as though these memories had personalities of their own, and all were jockeying for possession of his conscious mind.

It was a vastly annoying predicament. He was having enough trouble with their current war against the Death Eaters without being forcibly reminded of the last one.

This train of thought had carried Harry all the way through the taxi ride to another rental car lot, a fact he also found annoying, since he hadn't managed to discover exactly why he was having these flashbacks, nor had he found a way to make them stop. It seemed he had managed to waste a large amount of time he could have used to ponder a way to rescue Ron and Michael and put an end to the Death Eaters. Harry was even more furious with himself after he slid absently into the back seat of a new rental car. He had apparently spent the time between reaching the lot and getting the car thinking about how angry he already was with himself, and he vowed to at least spend the car ride working out a plan, although he was coming to doubt his own ability to think about anything besides his own mental problems for more than a few minutes.

As it transpired, however, his prowess in that regard didn't take much of a test– less than a quarter of an hour later they discovered Sydney's idea of a good place to stay the night was a forested campground.

The Muggle got out and looked around, apparently satisfied, but she persisted in casting nervous looks in Harry and Hermione's direction. The reason for this was immediately obvious; if they were going to be camping, then they were missing a critical piece of equipment. Sydney seemed to have been banking on Harry and Hermione's ability to conjure a tent. Fortunately, the two of them were up to the task and were, in fact, quite grateful that their skill at erecting a tent by hand wasn't about to be tested. Working together, they soon had a decent structure standing before them. It looked as though a storm of any level would destroy it, but quite up to an occasional gust of wind, which was all the weather had been throwing at them recently anyway. However, like most Wizard creations, it was much more impressive inside than out, containing three cots with sleeping bags, a table and chairs, and a small stove. They brought their belongings inside, but instead of immediately calling it a night as exhaustion from the day's activities might have directed, they sat down around the table.

As it worked out, Hermione and Sydney already had fully formed plans, but they were both a bit more suicidal than any of them would have liked. They settled in around the table, fully expecting to spend most of the night sipping conjured cups of coffee and consolidating the two plans in such a way that they at least stood some chance of getting out alive. No one had any complaints, however, at least now they were making some progress.

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	18. No Future in Sight

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, doorknobs, underwear, and flame throwers are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Where are You" by Our Lady Peace.

Many thanks to everyone who reviewed, please keep them coming, I love reading them. Potter-me asked if the flashbacks are from one battle or many. They are all from the same battle, the final fight against Voldemort, and they're not in chronological order. They occur when something in Harry's surroundings remind him of a piece of the battle.

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**Chapter 18: No Future in Sight**

"This is fun," Ron muttered into the dark. "It's almost like being in a cave."

"A cave would be louder," Michael replied. His voice seemed to echo strangely and he sounded farther away than he should have, based on Ron's memory of where they had been before the lights were turned out.

"I think I can see my hand," Ron said, waving the appendage in front of his face.

"You can't," Michael sighed. "There's no light in here at all, it's just your brain knowing where your hand is and extrapolating an image." There was a distinct shuffling noise coming from of his side of the room.

"Are you looking for something?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure," Michael replied evasively.

"Hoping to find something with your new found magical powers?" Ron continued. "Because I've been all over this place and I haven't found anything."

"Just trying to get my bearings," Michael said, but Ron suspected that wasn't the entire truth.

"Your feet are down and your head is up," Ron said. "That's probably about as good as you're going to get, especially because I'm fairly certain you'd trip over me before you got to either the door or the window."

This seemed to bring Michael back to his senses; he certainly had no desire to injure either Ron or himself by tripping in the dark.

When a decrease in noise indicated that Michael had sat back down on the floor again, Ron decided it was time to rekindle their old conversation.

"So you don't have any Wizard relatives?" Ron asked.

"If I do, they never told me," Michael confirmed.

"Have you ever done anything out of the ordinary or impossible, most likely when you were angry or scared?" Ron continued.

"Not that I can remember," Michael replied.

"Do you still remember all the spells we taught you when we first met?" Ron pressed. "Maybe you can actually do them now."

"Yes, I remember," Michael said.

Ron sighed. He suspected that Michael's newfound ability could be of some use if the agent could learn how to control it. Although he knew Hermione or even Harry would probably be far better at deducing what had happened, he had hoped his questions would be an aid, however limited, and he was finding Michael's lack of commitment to his answers and apparent disinterest in the questions infuriating.

"I've heard of Muggles and Squibs sometimes showing some magical ability later in life, but it doesn't happen very often, and it's usually because they somehow created a block against magic as a child," Ron explained. "That doesn't seem to be what happened in your case."

"Are you sure you didn't do anything?" Michael asked. "I mean, you must have been concentrating on that case too."

"Sure I was," Ron replied stiffly, "but I've never been much good at performing spells without an incantation, much less without a wand."

"It seems like the only way we could find out who did it would be to replicate the circumstances," Michael pointed out.

"Oh, great," Ron muttered sarcastically. "Let's just invite Malfoy back in here and get him to threaten to kill us again. It shouldn't be diffi- What are you looking for?" he demanded upon hearing that Michael had once again clambered to his feet and resumed making the shuffling noises, which could only be caused by many books being shoved aside as the wall behind them was investigated.

"A way out, an indication of where we are, anything," Michael replied.

Ron had to give him credit for at least dropping that ridiculous excuse about getting his bearings, although his new reason was hardly any better. Not only had Ron recently reminded Michael that he had already searched the room, but the Muggle had been watching and offering advice while he did it.

"What's really going on?" Ron exclaimed.

"Have you ever heard of Wizards using this technique on prisoners before?" Michael asked. "Leaving people in the dark and quiet like this."

"No, why?" Ron replied.

"Because this is a Muggle form of torture," Michael explained, missing Ron's skeptical look in the dark. "They put a person alone in a room where no light or sound can get in. It's called sensory depravation. Eventually, with nothing to distract him from his own thoughts or guilty conscious, the prisoner will go insane. They start to doubt their own existence."

"Oh," Ron said thoughtfully. "Well, they messed it up a little."

They shot each other invisible looks in the dark then burst out in laughter. Michael however, managed to contain himself within a matter of seconds, and as soon as Ron noticed that he was alone in his glee, he did too.

"Something wrong?" Ron asked.

"I just can't help but wonder…" Michael trailed off.

Ron heaved a sigh. "I suppose you don't know this, but I can't stand it when people don't explain themselves properly."

"Sorry," Michael muttered. "You remember how Malfoy implied that they'd captured Sydney, Harry, and Hermione? I'm just worried that they actually may have. I told you sensory depravation is a kind of Muggle torture, but I don't think he could have gotten the idea from me, which means Sydney must be here too."

"Or he could have been bluffing, trying to make us more willing to do what he wanted," Ron pointed out. "Malfoy might have gotten the idea while he was in Azkaban, only he hasn't got any Dementors around so he had to do it the long way. Besides, it doesn't make much difference where they are as long as we're stuck in here. We agreed before we started to not give away information for each other's sakes if we were captured."

"How can you say it doesn't make a difference," Michael protested. "If we know help isn't coming maybe we'd put more effort into escaping."

"Were you paying attention during that battle? This place is a fortress with security spells everywhere, a fair few of which are probably in here. Even if we could make it out of the room, we'd never make it out of the building, especially not while we're unarmed," Ron snapped. He hadn't meant to sound angry, but his temper had been rising throughout the conversation, ever since it started feeling like an increasingly ferocious porcupine had decided to sit on his arm. "Anyway, there's no way to tell for sure right now," he added, a little more calmly.

"I doubt my warning gave them much time," Michael said thoughtfully. "Climbing back up through the chimneys wouldn't have been fast enough."

"Harry and Hermione would have found a way out," Ron said, "even if they had to jump out of a window and Disapparate."

"What about Sydney, then?" Michael demanded.

"Do you really think they would have left her behind?" Ron shouted, giving an involuntary shudder.

Michael shrugged his answer, apparently forgetting that Ron couldn't see him, then asked, "Why haven't they come back for us, then?"

"We don't even know how long it's been," Ron reminded him.

Michael gave another shrug and said, "Long enough!"

"They'll have a good reason, I promise you," Ron maintained, feeling his temper rise again.

"And if they don't?" Michael pressed.

"What, you think they've just been lying around!" Ron demanded. "I'm not sure about Sydney, but I know Harry and Hermione will not rest until they've put an end to the Death Eaters and freed us. They'll die before they give up." Ron didn't realize he'd stood up, but the next thing he knew he'd aimed a kick at where he'd judged the nearest wall to be, only to painfully discover the degree of his disorientation with the help of a badly stubbed toe. Instead, he took to hopping around wildly and cursing.

"What if they don't come? Or if they die trying? Wouldn't it be better if we had an alternate plan?" Michael asked.

At that, Ron stopped cursing, put down his foot, and yelled, "You think Harry and Hermione aren't up to the task? You just wait, they'll have us out of here in no time. And you'd do best not to insult them, not until you know what they've been through!"

Completely furious with Michael and annoyed with his arm, Ron located a bookshelf and began shoving the books onto the floor in anger. Why was this man refusing point blank to accept that their continued captivity could be explained by something other than a worst case scenario? And for that matter, why wouldn't his injured arm simply leave him alone? Hadn't it tortured him enough?

Michael backed himself into a relatively safe corner at the beginning of Ron's outburst. He hadn't intended to insult Harry and Hermione, and indeed was having some trouble deciding exactly when he had. His true purpose had been to make Ron see the importance of finding another plan, or at least not simply waiting around to be rescued. However, there wasn't anything to be done at the moment except stay back and listen to the books fall: _thunk…th-thunk…thunk…think_

"Ron, stop," Michael said, crawling forward to the pile of books on the floor.

"What?" Ron demanded, defiantly pushing another row of books of their shelf.

"Did you hear that?" Michael asked, locating a single book that had fallen some distance from the rest of the pile.

"What?" Ron yelled. "Someone announcing the execution of Harry and Hermione?"

"I think there's a hollow cavity under the floor over here," Michael replied.

Ron actually did stop throwing books around at this and started feeling his was over to Michael. After nearly tripping over his pile of books, he got down on hands and knees and crawled blindly in the correct direction. Once there, he joined Michael in rapping his knuckles against the floor to determine the size of the cavity.

"I don't believe it," Ron gasped when they had finished. "We're in the drawing room. The Malfoys would hide their dark magical artifacts down there whenever the Ministry was conducting raids."

"You've known about this the entire time and you didn't realize we were in the same room with it?" Michael asked.

"All I knew was that it is in the drawing room, I would have expected a few more drawings and a few less books."

"Remind me later to tell you what a drawing room is," Michael muttered. "Can this help us?"

"I'm sure," Ron replied, "but how much remains to be seen. For starters, the opening is bound to be protected by some kind of dark magic, and I'm no use without a wand."

"Well, what's the worse it can do?" Michael asked.

"Oh, nothing serious," Ron muttered sarcastically, "just kill us, drive us insane, burn out our eyeballs, that sort of thing."

"And you're sure the entrance is protected," Michael pressed.

"I don't think they would have put us in here with it if they thought we'd be able to get inside," Ron replied. "Besides, if opening the door doesn't kill us, then whatever's inside is sure to. I don't even know if it leads anywhere."

"Dobby told us about the space under the drawing room, but he couldn't be very specific about it," Michael admitted. "He said the Malfoys never let him anywhere near it."

"We haven't got a clue what's down there, but it's bound to be very dangerous," Ron said. "I think its best if we leave it alone until we're sure we have no other option."

"Alright," Michael replied.

Satisfied, Ron moved back towards the bookshelves and lay down, relieved that he had finally won a debate. He gazed up at the ceiling as though he could see through it and the rest of the building until his eyes met the night sky, speckled with stars. Or, perhaps it was broad daylight outside, but he found it difficult to imagine that the sun could be perched in the sky anywhere while he was lying there in the pitch black.

His reverie was broken by a sharp, loud crack from somewhere in the middle of the room. It only took a moment for Ron to figure out what had caused it, and he immediately clamped his eyes shut and placed a hand over them, as though he was sure a Basilisk would rise out of the hidden compartment at any moment with the specific intention of starring him down.

"Michael?" Ron called timidly, when he realized that he hadn't died outright.

"Yep?" came the reply. Strangely, he didn't seem to be in any pain.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked, still keeping his eyes shut.

"Yep," Michael repeated. There was no doubt about it, he wasn't dead or in pain, in fact, he sounded a little smug, although that didn't rule out the Imperious curse.

"Did you have to do that?" Ron asked, cautiously lifting his hand away from his eyes.

"Yes," Michael replied. A soft creaking sound revealed that he was pulling the trap door further open. Even as Ron squeezed his hand even tighter over his eyes he noted that Michael had failed to answer three successive questions with more than one word. Part of him latched onto this while the other told him off for being paranoid.

"I thought we were going to wait until we were sure we had no other option," Ron said, purposely adding an accusing note to his voice.

"Name another option," Michael suggested.

"Wait for the others to rescue us?" Ron replied. This time his voice was a little more sarcastic than he'd intended, a strange displacement from his current mood. He was actually quite happy that Michael had proven he retained the usage of a multiple word vocabulary.

"And you don't think they'd appreciate some help from the inside?" Michael said.

"I'm sure they would," Ron sighed. "But we're not good for much if we're dead, are we?"

"But we're not dead," Michael reminded him.

"Not yet," Ron muttered.

"Ron," Michael said suddenly.

"Yeah," Ron replied, tensing up.

"Open your eyes," Michael commanded.

Ron was so surprised the Muggle could tell he still had his eyes closed that he nearly opened them right away to investigate how, but he managed to catch himself. Instead, he slowly removed his hand from his face and opened one eye. When death was not immediately forthcoming, he opened the other. What he saw was not at all what he'd expected, although it did explain how Michael had know he still had his eyes closed. A pale light was emanating from beyond the trapdoor.

"What the-?" Ron started asking, but he didn't have a chance to finish his question, much less get an answer for it, for there was a sudden shout from just outside the door to the drawing room, followed by several other raised voices.

Michael threw the trap door shut with a creak and a crack, then, correctly anticipating what was about to happen, he closed his eyes tightly. Ron wasn't quite so quick; he didn't get his eyes shut until a fraction of a second after the room was suddenly lit so brightly that only the sun at high noon in mid summer could have matched it. By the time he managed to get them shut he was so thoroughly dazzled that he wondered if he'd ever be able to see again.

The door opened to allow several people inside. Michael forced himself to squint at the intruders and saw that Lucius Malfoy was standing in front of a gang of five Death Eaters, all of whom looked as though they thought they were in for a great show.

Malfoy didn't speak for a full minute after entering the room. While still practically blind, the captives could almost feel his presence as he looked around the room with such a penetrating stare that it left them both worried that he knew or suspected that they had been studying the secret compartment, and they had to force themselves to give no hint that something was amiss, Michael, as usual, succeeding more than Ron.

Finally, Malfoy spoke. "My word, you have made a mess of the place, haven't you."

He gave a flick of his wand and the books immediately replaced themselves in their usual positions. However, there was a problem with this that both Ron and Michael hadn't anticipated but Malfoy took note of right away.

"I hope you enjoyed your little feast," he said. "Although by the state of things I suppose not." He summoned a sandwich into his hand from where it had been lying exposed on the floor. "Or perhaps a bit too much?"

Soon every piece of food they had hidden was lying in a pile outside the door. Several books had been knocked out of place again, but Malfoy no longer seemed to care. There was nothing the captives could do to protect their food stores, so they just sat there, Michael blinking at Malfoy while Ron struggled with the opposite problem: trying to keep his eyes open for more than a second at a time. Ron's stomach gave a sorry sort of grumble.

"Poor boy," Malfoy said in a voice of false sympathy. "If only you'd eaten all you could while you had the chance. After all, it will surely take some time before I am willing to trust you with the food of my kitchens again."

"I suppose you have been wondering," Malfoy continued, "why I am bothering to keep you here. I suppose, also, that you have decided that I must be seeking information from you, or that I don't wish you to walk free and rejoin those who are working towards my demise. While that is all true, that is not the complete reason why you are here. The truth is that you amuse me. It's true, you amuse me."

He said this last statement as though Ron and Michael had given him some indication that they didn't believe him, which gave his words the stately air of a prepared speech.

"I have enjoyed watching you during your stay here. I never expected a Muggle-lover and a-" he caught himself, sneered, then continued, "a near squib to create such interest for me, but the ways you compensate for your lack of pure-blood strength, particularly your primitive need for entertainment at all hours, is a source of morbid curiosity. Tell me, do you often reduce yourselves to physical violence and word games when bored?"

Neither Ron nor Michael made any reply.

"And now I suppose you think that if you ignore me I will simply grow tired and go away?" Malfoy laughed. "You simple people."

Exercising his newfound ability to keep his eyes open, Ron looked up at him, glaring daggers.

"Your pitiful attempts at Legilimency will have no effect on me," Malfoy sneered. 

It took everything Ron had not to burst out laughing.

"Now then," Malfoy said. "How many people are going to attack us?"

When no one said anything, Malfoy tried again, "What is your purpose here? Burglary? Assassination? Continuing the noble fight between good and evil, perhaps?"

Again, neither captive replied. In truth, they both thought the answer to that was relatively obvious.

"No?" Malfoy asked. "Then perhaps you'll tell me how you determined the location of our headquarters."

Ron couldn't contain a smirk this time and only narrowly avoided asking why they hadn't changed their base of operations after they knew it had been discovered.

"Yes, it was very clever of you, my congratulations," Malfoy sneered as he pulled something out of his pocket and showed it to them. "What is this?"

It was an ordinary mirror, albeit a very small one, but Ron and Michael recognized it at once as the device the Wizards had used to communicate during the mission. Still, neither said anything.

"It is a rather strange artifact to carry," Malfoy continued airily, now examining the mirror himself. "What if it should break? That's terrible bad luck, you know."

As he said this he gripped the mirror by opposite ends and bent it until the glass fibers began to scream in protest. Still, Ron and Michael remained impassive, so Malfoy relaxed his grip and tried another tactic.

"If I dismisse the possibility that one of you carries a mirror for the purpose of vanity, there is only one obvious possibility." He looked directly at into the mirror and said, "…that it is a communication device. Harry Potter."

In that moment, Ron couldn't determine exactly what his emotions were. Fear, certainly, that the mirror would clear and reveal everything, where Harry was, everyone he had recruited to work with him, what they were planning. And yet, he couldn't help but hope that the mirror would work, so he could see Harry and Hermione and even Sydney again, and have some indication that they were alive and safe and not locked in some little room like he and Michael, for Malfoy's statement was likely confirmation that the rest of the group had not been captured.

A second later, Malfoy said, "Harry Potter," into the mirror again, and once more a second after that, and as Malfoy cast the mirror away it was all that Ron could do to keep from praising the foresight of Harry and Hermione aloud.

Malfoy drew his wand out of his pocket and pointed it first at Ron, then at Michael, and back again. "How many people are you working with?" he demanded.

"That's difficult to say," Ron replied wittily. "The number tends to change a lot." All this wanton act of bravery earned Ron was the sole interest of Malfoy's wand.

"How did you infiltrate my Manor?" Malfoy sneered.

This time Ron said nothing.

"What are their plans to rescue you?" On purpose or not, several green sparks shot out the end of Malfoy's wand as he said this, but Ron and Michael maintained their silence.

Rather than looking frustrated with his lack of progress, Malfoy gave a smirk, as though he'd been hoping all along that the interrogation would come to this. Several of the Death Eaters behind him seemed to agree.

Malfoy reached once again in to his pocket, and pulled out something else, which he pointed at Michael. Ron recognized it immediately as the Muggle's gun. Despite working for several weeks with two CIA agents, Ron still knew next to nothing about the devices. The only thing he could remember at the moment had appeared years ago in the _Daily Prophet_, when the search for Sirius Black had only just begun: "_Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other)."_ This hardly seemed like a good omen.

Ron chanced a glance at Michael, who, amazingly, looked nearly as calm as he usually did, even though he was the one with a gun pointed at his head.

"Tell me what I want to know or I will kill him," Malfoy said.

"I don't know anything," Ron blurted desperately. "When we came in here the first time there was no second plan. The number of people working with our cause is bound to have changed by now."

"And your goal," Malfoy asked, tightening his finger on the trigger.

This time, Ron forced himself to stay silent, although it wasn't exactly by choice. Before he'd had a chance to reply, Michael had cleared his throat meaningfully, and when Ron looked over at him he had shook his head subtly.

"No?" Malfoy sneered, looking perfectly triumphant, as though he'd never actually wanted the information at all and he'd been hoping that he'd get to use the gun.

After chancing another look at Michael, Ron shook his head, blinking back tears of rage and shame.

"Very well, then," Malfoy replied. He steadied the gun, pointing it directly at Michael's forehead.

Click.

Ron couldn't bring himself to look at Michael, but he almost unwillingly chanced a glance at the Death Eaters, all of whom looked rather angry and confused, as though they had just been denied a real treat, which was odd, since they'd just watched a man die. Then Ron heard it again.

Click…click

This was strange, Ron couldn't imagine Malfoy missing at such close range, so the first shot much have killed Michael, why fire two more? They obviously hadn't been directed at Ron.

Even more inexplicably, Malfoy swept out of the room, looking perfectly livid. The Death Eaters followed him, still looking confused.

Ron had expected Malfoy to say something, perhaps gloat unnecessarily over Michael's body, just to drive home the point that he'd been serious all along, but there was nothing, just Ron, left alone and confused with the body of a man who'd once been his friend.

Finally, Ron forced himself to look at Michael, but what he saw was not a dead heap, or even a bloody heap, but Michael, looking perfectly alive and well and apparently dividing his attention between the door and Ron, the latter of which he kept looking at with some concern.

"When guns actually fire they make a much louder noise than that," Michael said finally.

About a million questions burst into Ron's head at once, but they got confused on the way to his mouth and all he managed was a strange sort of squeak.

"Are you alright?" Michael asked.

Ron couldn't even make himself nod, although he might have been able to shake his head if he'd tried.

"I unloaded the gun and hid the ammo before we were captured," Michael explained. "I could tell they hadn't figured out how to reload it."

Still, Ron couldn't bring himself to reply.

"Why don't we work on this chamber," Michael suggested.

Although words were still failing him, Ron crawled numbly over to the trapdoor and helped Michael open it again. They succeeded just as the lights went out again.


	19. This Could Be the End of Everything

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, theme songs, ring tones, and tambourines are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane.

Last chapter potter-me asked if Ron and Michael would be able to leave Malfoy Manor. Thanks for the question, and, after some thought on how best to answer that without giving too much away, I can say that, for good or ill their situation will be resolved before the end of the story, and the trap door is important, as I suppose you've guessed.

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**Chapter 19: This Could Be the End of Everything**

"What about Tonks?" Hermione asked reasonably. "She should be available by then and she'll be close by…"

"We'll need everyone who's that close to start in on those Death Eaters," Sydney said stiffly. "What about Fred and George?"

"They're supposed to keep an eye on things and step in if they see a problem. Your idea, remember?" Harry sighed. He couldn't count the number of times they'd gone through this debate during the night, but now the sun was just beginning to inch its way over the horizon, and the group was beginning to feel very pressed for time. Harry, Hermione, and Sydney had only managed to sleep a few hours with their half finished plan, especially since their track record led them to worry that they might wake up to a raging forest fire and have to relocate again. However, now exhaustion was itching at them and they were cursing their lack of sleep. "We could ask Fred and George to look, but it can't be their first priority."

"What about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?"

"Watching the exits on the second floor," Hermione replied.

"Shacklebot?"

"Monitoring the wards," Harry said.

"Podmore?"

"Breaking through the shield into the locked area."

"One of us?"

"Sydney, stop it, you know we can't."

"You stop it, Sydney yelled. "There's got to be a way."

"We don't have enough people," Harry maintained.

"Don't you understand how much danger Ron and Michael are in?" Sydney demanded. "Don't you care?"

"Of course we do," Hermione replied, sounding hurt. "We want them back as much as you do, but there's no one left."

"What do you think the Death Eaters will do as soon as they realize they're being attacked?" Sydney pointed out.

"Fight back?" Harry supplied dully, rubbing his eyes.

"Alright, the second thing," Sydney admitted.

"Make sure Ron and Michael can't join the fight," Hermione replied.

"Exactly," Sydney cried, getting to her feet. "They might even kill them."

"How many times do we have to go through this argument? There's just not enough…" Harry trailed off when he realized that he'd said something very wrong.

In all his days of knowing Sydney Bristow, Harry had never seen her quite like this before. There she stood, every wall and defense she possessed broken, obliterated as the stress, concern, and fear of the past few days overtook her. For once, he saw her as she truly was, lost, exhausted, and alone, with no more answers than he or Hermione. He almost felt uncomfortable watching her as she fought against her tears with her very being stripped bear before him. Harry wished he knew what to do, how to help her, but she provided no hints and simply stood there, one hand, tucked into her sleeve and covering her mouth. Harry's hand twitched and he nearly reached out to grab her other hand, but she turned away.

"We can't abandon them," Sydney finally sighed after a few minutes, sitting back down.

"We don't have a choice," Harry sighed, happy that Sydney had managed to collect herself. "Listen, if we win then we'll force the Death Eaters to tell us where Ron and Michael are and go rescue them ourselves. And if we don't win then we'll probably be in worse trouble than they are."

"They're counting on us," Sydney whispered.

"Then we have to win so we can save them," Harry replied, laying a hand on Sydney's forearm. "We have to make sure that the Death Eaters are so occupied with us that they don't have time to think about Ron and Michael. So can we finish going over the plan now?"

"Alright," Sydney sniffed, straightening up. "After the distraction, then…"

"I'll get to Malfoy as fast as possible," Harry replied promptly, glad that their futile debate had finally run its course. "We'll fight it out from there."

"Everyone who can will join you as quickly as possible," Hermione continued, "as soon as we figure out how to get through that barrier you mentioned."

"I still don't like the idea of sitting around waiting for a signal while the rest of you are in there fighting," Harry protested. "Are you sure there's not a way I could help, then leave just before this distraction happens."

"Not if we make it impossible to leave," Hermione reminded him. "Those wards work on everyone, not just Death Eaters."

"I'm still not convinced about those either," Harry muttered.

"You volunteered for this job, Harry," Sydney pointed out. "If you don't want it then say so now so we can give it to someone else."

"You're sure this is the most dangerous task?" Harry asked, glancing over their notes.

"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione replied, "aside from Sydney's, maybe, but you know she's the only one who can do that."

"Then I still volunteer," Harry muttered. "If someone has to die it might as well be me."

"I wish you'd stop talking like that, Harry," Hermione said. "You've faced them in the past and won."

"I've faced them in the past and survived," Harry clarified.

"That sounds like winning to me," Hermione muttered.

"So, the rest of us will be watching the exits, making sure those wards work so that no one can escape," Sydney said, forcing them to continue their review.

"I'm telling you that won't work," Harry said firmly. "There's too many ways out, most of which are untraceable."

"I suppose you'd rather we just stand back and let them all run," Hermione replied.

"I wish you'd just keep on taking them out," Harry said.

Hermione and Sydney paused, slightly annoyed. Harry had been interjecting this idea for most of the night and they understood where he was coming from but were unwilling to agree. After all, as long as there were Death Eaters in Azkaban, there was a possibility that they could escape, but they wouldn't trouble anyone anymore if they were dead. The only problem was that they had no intention of being on the giving end of massacre, even if Death Eaters were the recipients.

The outsider might have suspected that Harry had lost his fighting spirit. However, the truth was even more strange and unexpected, for evidence was growing that Harry had lost everything except his fighting spirit- every higher emotion was being drained out of him to preserve his will to survive against all odds. This observant outsider might not be so far from the mark as it would seem, for Harry hated that survival instinct with every fiber that could still contain such emotion, especially for the suffering it seemed to cause. He despised his own tendency to leap into battle simply because he was the only person around who could, or because he thought he had caused whatever pain and suffering another had to endure, and he tried to suppress it even as it consumed him. Of course, none of this had happened on any conscious level, not at first, for if it had, Harry would have tried to put some effort into preventing this transformation. After all, Dumbledore had often said that Harry's ability to care and love was his greatest asset against Voldemort, and the former Headmaster's advice had never lead him astray before. Then again, Harry was no longer fighting Voldemort, and it remained to be seen if his emotions were a necessary weapon anymore.

"The idea is to take them captive, not hurt them," Hermione sighed, fairly certain that she knew where such a statement would take their conversation, but she couldn't go on letting Harry say such things without arguing her own opinion.

"Because that worked so well last time," Harry muttered.

"I'm sure the Ministry will have tighter security in Azkaban now," Hermione said.

"Are you?" Harry pressed.

Hermione shrugged but wouldn't look at him and muttered something about personally making sure security would be stepped up if she had to.

"I don't understand why you're so resistant to this plan, Harry," Hermione said, speaking up now. "You know this is the best chance we have of succeeding. Once all the Death Eaters are in Azkaban you'll be free."

"I thought I was free once," Harry muttered. "Turns out there's no such thing."

There was a moment of awkward silence until Sydney changed the subject. "You know I might not be able to destroy my target."

"You'll just have to come up with a way," Hermione sighed.

"You forgot to mention that we don't even know what that will do," Harry pointed out.

"Dobby said it was important," Hermione replied, losing patience.

"But he didn't say it's explosive, or that it would take out the defenses of the entire mansion," Harry said.

"So we're going in there with an unknown number of people, not knowing if half our points of entry will even lead inside, basing our tactics on distractions we're not sure will work," Sydney recapped.

"Sounds about right," Harry muttered.

"And this is better than our last plan how?" Sydney pressed, coming to believe that Harry had a valid point. This was certainly nothing like any mission she had ever undertaken for the CIA.

"Because we have backup plans that'll work nearly as well as the originals, we'll have more people in there with us, and this time I think we might all be desperate enough to pull this off," Hermione said smartly.

Harry and Sydney probably would have continued the argument, but they sensed that all they would achieve was a few more hours spent planning backups for their backup plans, and they knew they couldn't do much better than they already had, especially without a few hours of sleep.

Instead, Sydney said, "So, after we miraculously pull this all off?"

"I suppose we let the Ministry clean it all up," Hermione replied with a shrug. "They should be able to handle that at least."

"Then we can grab our brooms and fly off into the sunset," Harry said sadly.

He half expected Sydney to start up the old argument about rescuing Ron and Michael one last time for good measure, but instead she held her silence and took a moment to reflect on their failed mission with him and Hermione.

Finally, Hermione looked up and said, "Sydney, how long do you think you'll need?"

"Not long, assuming your information is correct," Sydney replied.

"If we were to go in tonight, could you manage it?" Hermione pressed.

"Sure," Sydney said. Her face was momentarily stunned, but she covered it by looking cavalier instead.

Hermione, on the other hand, looked impressed, "Now that we've got a plan I don't think we should wait any longer than we have to."

"I should get going, then," Sydney said. She and Hermione got up from the table, leaving Harry still pouring over the maps.

Hermione transfigured a set of Sydney's robes while Sydney checked her equipment and put it in her bag.

"I don't know what anyone in the Order looks like," Sydney pointed out. "How will I be able to tell them apart?"

"They'll be the ones who aren't dressed like Death Eaters," Hermione shrugged.

"And how will they be able to tell me apart?" Sydney pressed, glancing at her changed robes.

"I'll show them a picture of you," Hermione said, noticing the flaw in their plan.

"Great," Sydney muttered. "At least they're not coming out to kill anyone."

"Good luck," Hermione said as she straightened up, changing the subject to avoid mentioning that not everyone in the Order could be expected to heed that guideline.

"You too," Sydney replied, turning to leave. "Good luck, Harry," she added before stepping out of the tent.

Hermione heard the car start up and leave, then said, "We should get going too, Harry. We've got a lot to do."

Harry made no reply, in fact there was no sound from the table at all.

Hermione turned around, prepared to snap at him for falling asleep when there was still so much to be done, but she never got the chance. Harry had disappeared. Hermione spent a moment feeling perfectly stunned, then her head started racing. There was no sign of a fight, so it seemed unlikely that Harry had been abducted. Besides, Sydney had spoken to him less than thirty seconds ago. Hermione raced outside, looking for any sign of Harry, and, finding none, came back in. She hadn't heard him Disapparate either, but that didn't actually mean much. Harry was so skilled at Apparation that under normal circumstances he could do it while making hardly any sound. Even Hermione couldn't match him, although she hadn't spent three days in a row Apparating across a room until she couldn't summon enough destination, determination, or deliberation to summon a sock.

Hermione sat down in Harry's spot at the table, hoping for some clue as to his whereabouts. Closest to her was a general map of the area, and on it they had circled the location of their campground and that of Malfoy Manor. Hermione was immediately furious, of all the stupid, pigheaded things to do, how could he suddenly decide that he was better off taking on the Death Eaters by himself and then act on it without telling anyone?

Hermione was about to apparate after him in the hopes of finding him soon enough to stop him from endangering the mission and getting himself killed. However, she stopped when she noticed something else on the map. There, some distance from any marked location, was a site marked with a familiar name.

Harry had gone to Godric's Hollow.

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	20. Heroes or Ghosts

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, pencil cases, coloring books, and reading lamps are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd.

Author's Note: I'm very sorry about the dely in posting this chapter. I was out of town. Unfortunately, the next chapter may be a bit late as well. I'm moving to a new apartment and don't know when I'll be able to connect to the internet. Hopefully, it won't take very long and I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can.

Many thanks agan to potter-me and charmedgal005 for the reviews. potter-me asked why Harry decided to go to Godric's Hollow and whether he thought he was going to die. The answer to the second part is that he wouldn't be surprised if he died. As for the first part, Harry just saw Godric's Hollow on the map, decided he wanted to go there, and went without really thinking it through. Having flashbacks to the final battle and the stress of fighting the Death Eaters is taking a lot out of him and he's not quite in his right mind anymore.

That leads me to an important point. This chapter is another place where it becomes obvious that I wrote this story before reading Half-Blood Prince. Unfortunately, for the purposes of this story, this is the first time that Harry has visited Godric's Hollow, despite what he said at the end of Half-Blood Prince.

**Chapter 20: Heroes or Ghosts**

Harry wandered slowly down the street, gazing idly at the houses around him. Some faces in the windows gazed back. He had been reminded of his resemblance to his father enough times to wonder if his parents' former neighbors somehow recognized him, although he supposed that they just might not be accustomed to people simply appearing in the middle of the street. He'd neglected to consider the possibility that Godric's Hollow might be a Muggle village, which seemed a near certainty now that he'd gotten a look at the place: the houses certainly didn't look very magical. He was coming to realize that he'd forgotten to do a great many things, but he wasn't in the mood to rectify any of them. All that mattered to him was finding his parent's house.

He'd expected the house to be difficult, if not impossible, to tell apart from the others. After all, he had no idea where his house was or what it looked like, someone else could have moved in over the last seventeen years or the house could have been knocked down and replaced. He hadn't expected find a dingy and dusty looking house that was half collapsed and leaning at a strange angle. It looked as though the vines creeping up its sides were the only things keeping it standing. The building looked so out of place next to the neat little houses nearby that Harry suspected the neighbors would have done something about it if they only could have seen it. There was no doubt about it anymore; this had to be his old house, preserved by the Fidelius charm.

Harry drew his wand out of his pocket and stealthily cast a precautionary strengthening charm on the structure as he approached, wishing he could do the same to himself.

The front door opened easily, but hung crazily from its bottom hinge now that it was free of its frame, and Harry stepped into a modest entrance hall. There was a closed door to the left and a large living room on his right, at least that's what it used to be, judging by the remnants of a sofa, which was now crushed by a bathtub that had fallen through the ceiling with the rest of the bathroom and a bedroom.

"_Neville!" Harry cried. "Are you sure you want to do this?"_

"_Do you?" Neville yelled back._

_It was a question of complexity beyond anything Harry had been prepared for. Of course he wanted Bellatrix dead, or at least unable to cause anyone else harm, but he didn't want to be the one who put her that way, and he hoped that Neville didn't want to either. Still, if anyone was going to decide what should be done with her, it ought to be Neville, who'd suffered the most because of her handiwork._

_Neville took Harry's silence as a no and refocused his entire attention on Bellatrix._

_The Death Eater laughed. "Even little Harry Potter is afraid to face me, but you think you can do it alone? This should be entertaining."_

_As she was speaking, Neville pointed his wand at the suit of armor behind her. Misjudging where he'd aimed, Bellatrix leapt unnecessarily out of the way, but laughed even harder when she saw the result of Neville's attempt. His transfiguration had always been somewhat substandard, so his idea in someone else's hands might have been exactly what was needed to win the battle. However, as it was, it resulted only in a suit of armor which drew a sword and half heartedly raised it to attack Bellatrix before losing its purpose and freezing in place._

"Ooh, a distraction," Bellatrix cooed. "I'll be sure to watch out for that."

_Without any further warning, Bellatrix brought her wand up and performed the same slashing spell that had incapacitated Hermione during the battle in the Department of Mysteries._

"_Protego!" Neville yelped, stumbling backward as the purple spell overtook him._

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny rushed forward, but before they were close enough to be of any help, Neville regained his footing and held up a hand, asking them to stay back. His other arm was occupied with clutching at his ribs. Apparently his shield charm hadn't been entirely effective.

_He straightened up and faced Bellatrix, somehow looking even more determined than he had before._

"_Eager for more?" Bellatrix asked, laughing shrilly. "I'll see what I can do, then."_

_A spell erupted from her wand before she'd even finished speaking, but Neville was ready for it this time and jumped out of the way, sending a curse back at his opponent._

_It became immediately clear that any extended battle between Neville and Bellatrix could only end in favor of the Death Eater. Already, Neville's supply of advanced spells had been proven ineffective against his powerful opponent and he was reduced to trying to catch her off guard with the more basic ones._

_Just as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had decided to ignore their friend's requests and join the fight, Neville finally landed a banishing charm on Bellatrix._

_She tripped backwards into the suit of armor which Neville had attempted to transfigure and, consequently, directly into its sword, which impaled her through the stomach._

_Bellatrix glanced down at the bloody sword which was now extending out from her midriff, but instead of looking surprised or horrified or even in pain, she threw her head back and laughed. It was sickening, watching her revel in the irony of her own undoing even as blood dripped from her torso and mouth._

_Then Bellatrix did something no one anticipated– she raised her wand, pointed it at Neville, and shouted, "Cruc-!"_

"_Stupefy!" Neville replied, cutting her off._

_Bellatrix immediately went slack and fell to the side, pulling the suit of armor down on top of her._

_Neville didn't move as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny took Bellatrix's wand and tied her in ropes, just in case she managed to wake up._

"_Neville, are you okay?" Harry asked carefully. The Wizard in question seemed to be in shock: he hadn't even lowered his wand._

_For a moment it looked like Neville hadn't heard Harry, then he said, "I wonder if they'll be alright now."_

"_Who?" Harry asked. The only 'they' he could think of were the Death Eaters, but that didn't make much sense._

"_My parents," Neville replied hopefully, finally turning to face Harry. "After a Wizard dies the spells they've cast disappear."_

"_Oh," Harry sighed, finding himself suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with Neville. He knew that Wizards can't maintain their spells after death, he'd discovered that when Dumbledore died, but there was a radical difference between a freezing charm and insanity caused by being tortured with the Cruciatus curse. However, Harry couldn't stand the idea of crushing Neville's hopes so soon after he'd found them, especially since he didn't know for sure, so he said sadly, "Maybe they will."_

Harry paused and closed his eyes momentarily. Even months after the event, he could scarcely stand to think about his conversation with Neville after his triumph over Bellatrix. Neville's parents had yet to show any sign of recovery.

Eager for a distraction, Harry spent a brief moment in mental debate, then opened the door on his left and stepped into the garage. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to find in such a room, a car would have been the obvious choice, except that Hagrid had once said that the Dursley's version of Harry's parents' deaths, a car crash, was ludicrous. Consciously or not, he hadn't had high expectations, after all, a garage wasn't usually the most interesting place to explore, but that wouldn't have been the case at all if he'd known what was in there.

Unlike the rest of the house, the garage wasn't half destroyed, in fact, aside from the thick layer of dust covering everything, it looked as though it could have been used yesterday.

Garage didn't seem an appropriate label for this room. As expected, there was no car to be found. Instead, the place could best be described as a workshop. Hundreds of projects sat scattered across tables, on shelves, or on the floor where they glittered, whirled smoked, or simply waited dully. Judging by the state of some of the experiments, it was a minor miracle that the place still existed, although Harry supposed that the same person who removed the bodies from the house could have made sure that nothing here was liable to explode if left unattended.

Harry picked up the nearest object, which was about the same size and shape of an egg, cleared the durst off as well as he could, and held it out in his left hand. It levitated about an inch above his palm, spun silently, then stopped with its pointed end facing Harry's right. Harry gave it a curious spin and watched it align itself once again in the exact same direction. Intrigued now, Harry chanced a glance in the direction the device was pointing, but all that was there was a wall covered in magical tools. Harry approached the wall then walked back and forth in front of it, watching the object. It did not change direction even when Harry's hand rotated underneath it. If it was pointing at something, it was very far away. Harry wondered vaguely if it was pointing at London, and jumped in surprise when the device rotated so that it was pointing back towards him.

Sensing a connection, Harry pulled out his wand and said, "Point me." Like the strange device, Harry's wand spun around in his open hand and came to rest indicating the same direction the device had originally shown.

"North!" Harry whispered, awestruck.

The device turned and aligned itself to Harry's wand. It was a compass, but it was more than that, it had been able to point at London as well.

"Hogwarts," Harry said and the compass twitched, pointing in a slightly different direction than the wand.

Wondering just how specific this compass could get, Harry said, "Mum and Dad's bedroom," and it obediently flipped itself on its blunt end and pointed a few degrees shy of straight up.

Harry was impressed, but wondered if this compass had the same limitation as the Marauder's Map, unable to show any place his parents hadn't known about, such as the Room of Requirement, but even as he considered this, the compass tipped itself back on its side and point itself in the same direction it had when Harry had asked for the location of Hogwarts.

The potential value of something like this was astounding, Harry knew, especially considering his present situation.

"Malfoy Manor," Harry said, and the compass pointed to his left.

A sudden and brilliant thought occurred to Harry, and he said, "Ron!"

His hand shook, but the compass did not. Somewhere inside him a very large balloon was suddenly full to bursting. However, spotting a potential source of error, Harry tried requesting the direction of several different locations before asking for Ron's again, but the result was the same. There was no longer any doubt about it; Ron was still in Malfoy Manor.

"Michael!" Harry said, practically laughing.

Instead of remaining still as Harry had expected, the compass performed a slow turn as though it was confused, then fell limp in his hand.

"Michael Vaughn!" Harry demanded, shaking it slightly, but its behavior remained the same.

The balloon inside of Harry popped. He tired to convince himself that the compass didn't know where Michael was because he was a Muggle, not because he was dead, but he couldn't do it. He knew he could test either theory by requesting the location of Dumbledore or Sydney, but didn't because he knew he wouldn't be able to stand it if the results didn't go his way, not to mention the fact that this ambiguity saved him from potentially having to tell Sydney that he had evidence Michael was dead.

Sadly, Harry closed his hand around the compass, but despite his present horrified state, he couldn't help but be impressed when he felt the compass shrink in his fist to the size of a pebble.

Harry stared in wonder at the new insight the compass had provided. He'd never seen anything like this in any magical shop, and it had the potential to solve a great mystery. Harry had never known much about his parents. Aside from being in the original Order of the Phoenix, he'd had no idea what they did with their time. Now he had a strong suspicion that they'd been inventors. What's more, from the look of their workshop, they could have given even Fred and George some tough competition.

Harry meandered through the room, experimenting with any device that looked completed and pocketing those which turned out to be especially useful. Before long he had a device which attempted to bind itself around his legs and trip him and a small orb which flew around the room searching for victims then ran into him several times which numbing force until he found out how to turn it off.

Satisfied that he'd found enough helpful devices to justify his side trip, Harry departed the garage and passed a hazardous looking staircase, turning instead towards a table that was standing nearly sideways with only two rickety legs for balance. Two broken down chairs and a toppled highchair lay near it. Without truly realizing what he was doing Harry magically repaired and cleaned the set then paused a moment to smile at the effect this had on the room.

Harry had no sooner stepped on the furry ground in the kitchen than exited it again. Apparently, no one had thought to clear out his parents' food stores after they died. Professor Sprout might have been comfortable in such a place, but Harry was in no mood to risk an encounter with a newly evolved species of mold creature, so he returned to the stairs and hit them with another strengthening spell before beginning his ascent, carefully ducking hanging beams and dodging gaping holes.

Unfortunately, the second level wasn't in any better state than the first, in fact, it looked much worse. It seemed that there wasn't an unbroken window in the place and immediately to his left there was a void where several rooms had collapsed into the living room. Above, the roof resembled nothing so much as the ceiling in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, only in this case it was because large chunks were missing: there was far more open space than solid wood. The floor wasn't much better. Harry had to constantly watch his step or risk falling through.

A short hallway extended in front of him, or at least it would have been if the left side wasn't missing. As it was, it bore more of a resemblance to a catwalk.

Harry stepped up to the second door on the right and pushed it open, keeping his feet firmly in the hall in case the room beyond had collapsed as well. It hadn't, but he still tested it gingerly before stepping inside his parent's bedroom.

There was nothing else it could have been, of course. A large bed, toppled and bent now, would have extended out from the far wall, two dressers stood against adjacent walls, and a closet was built into the fourth wall. Harry investigated this first, sliding the door open with some difficulty.

Within were two equal sides. One, apparently his Mother's, was a little more cramped but nevertheless more organized, while the other, his Dad's, was somewhat cluttered, with wizard robes and Muggle clothes intermingled. Harry took out one of his father's robes, but it practically disintegrated in his hand. He pulled out his wand and repaired it carefully, but it still looked depressingly limp and lifeless despite his best efforts.

Harry turned his attention now to the dressers, but he didn't dare open them as dark creatures were sure to have infested many of the drawers. In truth, he should have been more careful to ensure that the ratty old robe he held and its closeted companions weren't infested with doxies. Instead, he was practically drawn to the objects on top of the dressers. There were pictures, at least a dozen of them. Their glass was broken and falling out and the pictures themselves water stained and bleached by the sun, but Harry gathered them up carefully and made for the bed, which he repaired and straightened before sitting down.

He delicately removed each picture from its frame and studied it before moving on to the next one. Many of the pictures he'd seen before, duplicates of those Hagrid had given him in his first year, but some were new to him. One depicted his Dad pushing a young Harry carefully on a swing while another showed Harry, his parents, and a number of their friends at what looked like Harry's first birthday party. After a thorough examination Harry discovered that Dumbledore had been in attendance, and that he was the only person in the picture wearing an expression of any sort of concern. Harry wondered vaguely if the former headmaster looked fearful because of Voldemort and the prophecy. The performing of the Fidelius charm and the fateful choosing of the secret-keeper had occurred only a few months after this, perhaps this was the occasion on which Dumbledore suggested the maneuver. The last picture Harry dislodged depicted all four Marauders, all smiling impishly, as though they'd just committed some brilliant practical joke, which seemed likely, based on the frightened and annoyed expressions on the people in the background and the way the Marauders kept shooting concerned glances past where the camera would have been, as though they were keeping an eye out for teachers. It took all the restraint Harry had to keep himself from blowing a hole in the picture where Pettigrew's smiling head was.

Slightly misty eyed, Harry pocketed the pictures, stacked the empty frames on a dresser, and straightened the moth-eaten blanket and pillows on the bed before weaving his way back to the hallway and closing the door. Only one accessible room remained upstairs, so Harry walked into it and gasped.

It looked as though a small bomb had gone off in this room. The two walls that would have bordered the outside of the house had crumbled and there was no roof overhead nor wreckage of it on the floor, although that could have been because there wasn't much floor left for it to land on. The two remaining walls were covered in holes and Harry discovered that by looking through them at the correct angle, other holes in different walls would line up until he could see clear through to the outside of the house. He suspected that if he stood at a point in the center of the room he might have been able to see through all the holes at once but was unable to test his theory because the center of the room was home to the largest hole in the floor he'd seen yet. Another gaping hole stood in the wall with the door. There could be no doubt about it: this room was the sight of that fateful first meeting of Harry and Voldemort.

The room was sparse except for a crib, which lay on its side in the corner. Harry carefully wove his way over for a closer look. It was unremarkable except that it was in at least ten more pieces than it should have been. The paint was peeling and all the exposed wood was slowly disintegrating into dust. Harry picked up a soft blanket that had been spilling onto the ground. Beneath it was a mobile, attached to the one end of the crib. It featured seven tiny broomsticks and snitches and tried feebly to rotate on its metal pivot at his touch. With a smile, Harry realized that this was exactly the sort of thing his Dad would have gotten him.

Harry longed to stay longer, to discover what other secrets the room had to offer, but his scattered memories of that famous incident were starting to clamor at the edge of his consciousness, especially those forced upon him by the Dementors in his third year.

Reluctantly, Harry straightened up and turned to leave, hoping that getting out of the room would put his mind at rest. However, before he'd made it even half way back across the room he spotted something he hadn't seen before. On the floor between the largest holes in the wall and the floor, was a tangle of black rags. It was precisely where evidence indicated that Voldemort would have stood during their confrontation. Harry gagged.


	21. All the King's Horses

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, safety pins, paperclips, and thumb tacks are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the nursery rhyme "Humpty Dumpty".

Many thanks for the reviews. It really means a lot to me to get to see what people think of the story. Please keep it up.

**Chapter 21: All the King's Horses**

It took Harry a moment to remember where he was and another to realize why he was crying. As soon as everything had become clear to him, he ran out of the door to his childhood room in Godric's Hollow as though it contained the bed of someone dying of an extremely contagious disease. He didn't stop there, but raced through the hall and down the stairs, occasionally tripping wildly over a hole in the floor.

_Hogwarts could no longer be counted upon for its safety, he had to get out and he had to make sure that Ron came with him._

"_Ennervate!" Harry whispered weakly, pointing his wand at Ron's chest, but instead of waking up, Ron gave a great twitch, as though the magic had caused him pain. Growing desperate, Harry tried levitating him, and while this spell worked, Ron started having some sort of seizure which continued until Harry lowered him back to the floor. If magic had that sort of effect on Ron, then Harry had only one choice, to carry him._

_Disapparating was out of the question at the moment; that would be the first of all the charms that would remain protecting the school, so that at least the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to escape by Disapparating. The same was sure to be true of the floo network. This was unfortunate for Harry, because it meant that unless there was someone in Hogwarts, the nearest help would be in Hogsmeade, a mile and a half away._

_He half carried and half dragged Ron out of the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall, where he stood yelling for help for as long as he dared, but there was no response. He even sent out a Patronus, hoping some member of the Order would see it and know what it meant. Harry hadn't expected to find the castle so deserted and eerie, although the miscellaneous bodies strewn about could have added to that._

_With nothing else for it, Harry dragged Ron to the front door, forced it open with his foot, and stepped outside._

_It was immensely foggy, the sun scarcely penetrating the thick layer of mist, making it seem as though it was still predawn on the ground, even though a watch would have maintained that it was in fact early morning._

_It had finally stopped raining sometime during the night, but deep puddles covered the ground. They seemed to delight in blending in with the fog, making themselves even more difficult to see than their surroundings, which could be spotted through the fog at a distance of no more than a meter._

_If it was difficult to see then it was impossible to hear: the fog seemed to suck up all the sound. The birds must have chosen to forgo their morning songs, the little sound there was came from the two figures that emerged, one dragging the other as he fought his way through the mist. Still, Harry could barely hear his struggling footsteps and Ron's dragging feet nor his own ragged breath and Ron's occasional gasps of pain._

_Within minutes their feet were soaked as Harry walked straight into puddles he hadn't been able to see. Soon their robes and hair were damp as well with captured water from the fog. Harry imagined that Ron must be very cold, he would have been too if he wasn't the one doing all the work. As it was, the condensing fog intermingled with the sweat and tears on his face._

_Finally, silhouettes of the nearest buildings of Hogsmeade began to loom into view and Harry put all the energy he had left into an extra burst of speed until he reached the street._

"_Help!" Harry yelled. When there was no response he said it again and again, but it was no use, Hogsmeade was just as deserted as Hogwarts._

_Harry lowered Ron to the ground and began to check him over. He didn't seem to be breathing and Harry couldn't find a pulse, he could only hope that was because he didn't know how to look for one. At any rate, the situation was now either desperate or hopeless, but Harry couldn't simply give up on Ron, not anymore, not after everything, but there was no way to get him to St. Mungo's with any sort of speed, no sane way at least. It seemed the time had come for insane ways._

_Harry kneeled down, grasped Ron's arms very tightly, and began to clear his mind. If he allowed himself any doubts at all he might splinch one or both of them, leave Ron behind, or even mix up their parts, and, having never heard of anyone attempting something like this, he had no idea which one it might be._

_A moment before he was about to Disapparate_, he heard something: "Harry!"

The voice was familiar.

"Hermione?" Harry replied, looking around for her. _He must be hearing things, Hogsmeade was supposed to be deserted; Hermione would meet them at St. Mungo's._

"Harry, are you alight?" she asked.

"_I'm fine, but you've got to apparate to St. Mungo's right now and get help," Harry said._

"Why?" Hermione asked. "What's wrong?"

"_Ron's dying, can't you see that?" Harry exclaimed._

"How do you know?" Her voice seemed to catch in her throat.

"_Well, he's not looking very lively is he," Harry demanded, gesturing to the prone figure lying on the ground in front of him. For such a brilliant witch, Hermione sure wasn't acting very intelligent. "I'll go then, just stay here and watch him until I get back."_

"Harry, wait," Hermione demanded. "Ron is still captured by the Death Eaters, he's nowhere near here."

Harry stopped mid twist and blinked a few times, looking at his surroundings and running a hand through his hair. He gazed up at Hermione as though seeing her for the first time. "Am I dreaming?"

"No Harry," Hermione replied sadly.

"Oh," Harry whispered as everything slid into place. He wasn't in Hogsmeade, he was standing in the street in front of his parents' house, nearly five months after he'd believed it to be a moment earlier. Ron wasn't lying before him dying but was somewhere in Malfoy Manor, and perfectly healthy for all he knew.

Hermione was completely horrified with what she'd just seen. Not only had Harry simply appeared from apparently nowhere, but he had done so on foot, looking as though he was dragging something very heavy, although his only burden was a ratty old set of robes. To the observer, Harry had been in some mad delusion, absently swatting and unseen demons and spider webs as he'd forced himself onward.

Suspecting that Harry had been cursed, Hermione had begun searching her mind for any spell that would reverse the damage, but without knowing what exactly had been done to him, any cure she would try might do more damage than good. Just as she was growing desperate, the fog over Harry's eyes cleared and he came out of it, and suddenly Hermione knew this was not an isolated incident.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked again, studying him carefully.

"'Course," Harry replied promptly, but there was no mistaking the poorly rehearsed lie. After all, he was still inexplicably out of breath and looked thoroughly haunted.

"Do you care to describe what just happened?" Hermione pressed.

"I was just visiting my parents' house," Harry replied, gesturing to the broken down shack behind him.

"How could you tell which house it was?" Hermione asked, momentarily stunned.

"They put the secret keeping charm on it, remember?" he added. "You wouldn't be able to see it."

"Right," Hermione sighed, then she shook her head suddenly and forced herself back on track. "I meant between when you stepped out of your parents' house and when you first noticed that I was standing here."

"We can't talk about this here," Harry said. "Let's go back to the tent."

Hermione looked like she wanted to object, but she shrugged, led him into the shadow of a nearby house, and Disapparated without suggesting a different place. When Harry followed her he discovered why, the tent had been cleared away, leaving only an empty clearing. They sat down on a fallen log instead.

"So what happened," Hermione prompted.

"Nothing," Harry maintained, running his hands through his hair.

"Don't give me that!" Hermione exclaimed. "I know you're lying, I know you've been having flashbacks."

Harry's first idea was to answer with a defensive, "No!" then decided that a confused "What are you talking about?" would serve him better, but neither option made it all the way to his mouth. "I suppose you could call them that," he muttered instead.

"And they happen often?" Hermione prompted.

"How do you know anything about it?" Harry demanded.

"Sydney's the one who noticed," Hermione explained. "She said there was something strange about the way you reacted to the Jabberwock."

Harry shrugged, he supposed that going on about a Chimera would have been something of a red flag, and he felt foolish for assuming that just because his companions hadn't said anything at the time they hadn't noticed the slipup.

"She also guessed that most of the flashbacks are about some part of the final battle between you and Voldemort," Hermione continued.

Harry nodded.

"And that they've been getting more frequent and vivid," Hermione pressed.

Harry nodded again, vaguely impressed, if embarrassed, that Sydney had managed to pick up on all this.

"She said that she thinks you might have something called Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome," Hermione explained. "It's something that soldiers sometimes get after they've been in a really intense battle. One of the symptoms is flashbacks to the event."

"That sounds about right," Harry sighed. "Did she mention a cure?"

"Long term therapy," Hermione replied.

"Any magical cures? Something a little faster, perhaps?" Harry muttered.

"Not that I know of," Hermione said. "Sydney said these flashbacks can be very debilitating, as I suppose you've noticed. She thinks if they get too bad you should sit this mission out. I think this qualifies as bad."

"What!" Harry exclaimed. "No way!"

"But if you have a flashback at the wrong time…" Hermione cried.

"If you really think it will be that much of a problem, then get rid of it," Harry yelled, pointing at his head.

"What?" Hermione gasped.

"Cast Obliviate, make me forget the whole battle," Harry explained. "You can remind me of a few things before we go in, then sort the rest out when it's over."

Instead of the look of incredulity Harry had expected to see cover Hermione's face, she dropped her gaze to the ground and said, "I can't."

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "I've seen you do it a million times. What about that Death Eater you made defect by erasing his reasons for joining Voldemort? You don't understand what this is like, Hermione. It's like when you get a song in your head and you know it so well that you could swear you're actually listening to it. When I go into one of those flashbacks it feels like I'm there, Hermione. That battle hasn't stopped. It keeps happening to me, over and over."

"I…um…"

A sudden change had come over Hermione. She was wearing an expression Harry had never seen on her before. He could barely stand to look; she just seemed so confused. But Hermione was never confused. Then, all of a sudden, several things made sense at once.

"You did it to yourself," Harry gasped, feeling as though something very large was pressing on his chest. "You cast Obliviate on yourself."

But it couldn't be. She spent most of her time telling off Harry and Ron for considering stupid things like that. He chanced another glance at her. It was similar to the mood she had on the rare occasions when the library failed to produce a satisfying answer to a problem, but it was different as well, for it was her mind that had failed her. Or she had failed her mind.

Hermione caught his eye, nodded glumly, and returned her attention to the ground.

"What did you erase?" Harry asked, trying to be gentle but knowing it was a stupid question the moment he finished it.

Hermione, however, seemed to have an answer, "The last battle against Voldemort, as far as I can tell. I can hardly remember any of it."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Harry demanded. "Why didn't I notice? Or Ron?"

"This helped," Hermione shrugged, pulling a folded piece of newspaper out of her pocket and handing it to Harry. It was an article that ran in the Daily Prophet a few days after the battle, relating every detail the survivors had been willing to share. The paper had been folded and unfolded so many times that a large hole was worn in the middle.

"I didn't want anyone to know," Hermione continued. "It was easy enough to play along."

"So on the train coming back from Hogwarts a few days ago," Harry started, voicing something that had just occurred to him, "when you and Sydney were talking about Ron and Michael and you asked me to leave, you were worried that you'd have to make something up and I'd notice the difference."

Hermione nodded.

Harry put a great amount of effort into not showing any outward reaction, but it felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

"And all this time, you haven't had a clue what happened during the final battle," Harry said weakly. If she hadn't still been wearing that look of utter confusion he would have been inclined to doubt her sincerity again.

"I've picked up on bits and pieces," Hermione reminded him.

"When did you do this?" Harry demanded.

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. "I must have erased that too. It was probably soon after the battle, though."

Harry was astounded. Even stranger than the idea that Hermione would erase her own memory, was the fact that she had done it, decided that there was some memory of that battle which she absolutely could not live with, when the rest of them were still working out which tense to refer to people in.

"Well, do you want to remember now?" Harry asked.

"More than anything," Hermione replied, "but I don't see how."

"Memory charms can be reversed, can't they?" Harry asked desperately.

"Yes," Hermione replied, jumping up and pacing, "but we'd have to know the exact nature of the original charm, and I erased that too."

"You really did want to forget it all, didn't you?" Harry said.

"Apparently," Hermione said with a shrug. "It's kind of funny, actually. I've spent my entire life on some big quest for knowledge, only to come up against something I couldn't bear to remember, something I would risk my sanity to forget, and now I can't stand not knowing what it was."

"Hilarious," Harry replied sarcastically, surprised that she could even say that she thought something of this magnitude was funny.

"Not really," Hermione admitted

"You really have no idea why you did this?" Harry asked.

"None," Hermione confirmed. "But what happened to that Death Eater I made defect?"

"Another Death Eater found him out and killed him," Harry replied grimly.

Hermione gasped and clamped a hand to her mouth, looking as though she was about to throw up. "I killed him," she whispered. "I killed him."

"No you didn't," Harry informed her. "A Death Eater did."

"I might as well have," Hermione replied. "He might have survived if I hadn't addled with his mind."

"And we might have died," Harry explained. "He was about to knock us out and capture us. You heard him coming and modified his memory. A few minutes later we needed a distraction and he volunteered to go. We got past unscathed. If it'd happened any other way we would either be dead or bowing down to Voldemort right now."

"That doesn't make it right," Hermione muttered.

"It doesn't make it wrong," Harry pointed out. "Just what made you think it was a good idea to modify your memory?"

"I keep telling you, I don't remember," Hermione sighed.

"Hermione," Harry demanded.

"I'm not you, Harry," she exclaimed. "I live for knowledge, not adventure. I can't tell you why I did it, but I suppose it all just got to be too much. Although, if I'd known what it was like at the time I don't think I would have. It's like counting up your fingers but arriving at the wrong number, and you can't tell if you've just counted wrong or you're suddenly missing something."

"I'm just trying to help you," Harry said.

"Oh, and a right fair state you're in to do that," Hermione laughed. "Look at yourself, Harry."

"Good point," Harry admitted. "When did Ron become the most grounded one among us?"

They shared a blissful moment of laughter until Harry suddenly burst out, "Ron! The mission! I was supposed to help you contact the Order."

"Good of you to remember," Hermione replied. "But don't worry about it. I took care of it before I went looking for you."

"Thanks," Harry sighed. "It must not have taken very long, then."

"Turns out Tonks is staying a few campsites over," Hermione explained. "At least she used to be."

"She's sneaky like that," Harry admitted.

"Anyway, she said she'd get the word out," Hermione continued. "I also asked her to try and convince Mrs. Weasley that Ginny should be allowed to help."

"I'm sure Tonks was thrilled about that," Harry sighed.

"You did promise Ginny," Hermione reminded him. "But she's of age now anyway, so Mrs. Weasley's approval isn't required."

"I'm sure that will be enough to convince her not to kill me," Harry muttered sarcastically.

"We need to go to Fred and George's shop," Hermione said suddenly.

"Really?" Harry replied, perking up, feeling that he could use a trip to a quality joke shop.

"We promised to keep the twins informed, and we'll need to use Hedwig to contact Ginny and tell her what we need her to do," Hermione explained. "Plus, I'm sure they have a thing or two there that could be useful to us."

"Excellent," Harry said.

They grabbed their bags, not speaking much, as though nothing had changed. For even though what they knew about each other had increased dramatically over the past hour, the fact of the matter was that the change had occurred months ago, and the reality of their existence hadn't changed one iota since then, only their perception of it had.


	22. Before We Go Insane

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, legos, duct tape, and toilet paper are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "The Song that Goes Like This" from the Broadway show Spamalot, written and composed by Eric Idle and John Du Prez.

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews!

**Chapter 22: Before We Go Insane**

"And you don't find it at all suspicious that they left us in a room with a potential exit," Ron said suddenly, voicing the concern which had been rising within him since they'd gotten the trap door open again five minutes previous. Since then they'd been sitting at the edge, their feet dangling down, contemplating their next move while basking in the mysterious white light that rose up from some unseen source below.

"Maybe they didn't think we'd be able to find it," Michael suggested, "or open it."

In the past, Ron might have been inclined to argue that it wasn't that hard to open, after all, Michael had managed to do it in less than a minute the first time. However, now that he'd actually participated in the process he knew what a complex task it was, and still couldn't figure out how Michael had done it so quickly.

"The way Malfoy was talking it sounded like they've been watching us even when there's not a guard in here," Ron tried.

"Yeah," Michael admitted.

"So, maybe they meant for us to find this, like it's some sort of test or something," Ron continued, gaining momentum.

"Yeah," Michael said again, but then he did something Ron hadn't expected, he slid into the hole until he was hanging by his fingertips, then dropped down to the ground, a few feet below him.

Before Ron had time to gather his thoughts enough to object to this unexpected turn of events, Michael called up to him, "There's a tunnel down here."

"A tunnel?" Ron stammered.

"We know they're not going to feed us again any time soon," Michael continued. "It's only a matter of time before they figure out how to work my gun or get bored and go back to their wands. I think this is our best chance of finding a way out of here."

Ron, on the other hand, thought it was their best chance of getting killed by a vicious dark creature. He wanted to tell Michael so, or volunteer to stay behind to help Michael back up into the room when he discovered that this wasn't a way out, but he couldn't let the Muggle face whatever was down there alone, not after everything that Michael had done for him. With a resigned sigh, Ron dropped down through the trapdoor as well. Before he'd even straightened up, the inviting light evaporated, leaving the space as dark as the room above.

Ron shot an invisible look to where he thought Michael was, regretting coming down already. "This is looking more and more like a trap all the time," he muttered.

Suddenly, something tapped Ron on the shoulder, and assuming the worst, he squeezed his eyes shut, clamped his hands over his ears, and squatted down into the smallest and most unobtrusive position he could manage. Not because he was afraid, he assured himself, but because there was no use in making himself an easy target.

A second later, he heard Michael laughing beside him. "Take it easy," he said, fumbling for Ron's arm then pulling him up. "Let's go."

"Where?" Ron asked, straightening out his robes to hide his embarrassment.

"This way," Michael replied, turning Ron around.

The wizard had been about to ask how Michael knew which way to go, but thankfully the question died on the way to his mouth, for as soon as he saw the direction Michael intended, it became very obvious why he wanted to go there: another pale white light was shining from that direction.

This cured Ron of his questions, but not of his misgivings. There were several dark creatures he knew of that delighted in giving travelers false directions with light, the hinkypunk being among the least sinister of them.

There was something else that was strange about this light: it seemed to reach nowhere except their eyes: none of the surrounding tunnel received the benefit of its illumination, as though it was a lone and distant star. This oddity persisted even as they walked towards it. They couldn't tell how far they had gone, but even after they walked what must have been over fifty yards, a distance about equal to the considerable width of Malfoy Manor, the light still appeared no brighter or closer. What's more, at no time did they register any sort of turn, although they supposed the light could have guided them through subtle curves without their noticing, due to the darkness.

Suddenly, Ron heard a low moaning growl from up ahead. He paused to listen, his heart catching in his throat.

"Michael? Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I heard it," Michael replied.

"It sounded hungry," Ron said.

There was a pause. "It was."

"How do you know?" Ron whispered, straining his ears into the silence, hoping to catch more clues about the creature's whereabouts.

"Because it was my stomach."

"Oh," Ron muttered, supposing he should have realized that in the first place.

"I wonder if this light is leading us where we want to go," Michael said.

"I didn't know we had any real destination in mind," Ron replied, grateful that Michael had chosen to change the subject rather than tease him.

"Towards freedom, away from things that will try to kill us," Michael pointed out.

"True," Ron admitted, "but this hasn't led us into trouble so…"

Ron stopped short and began swatting at the air.

"What?" Michael asked as he came back to meet Ron and was promptly smacked by on of the wizard's flailing arms.

"I saw something," Ron replied.

"Ron," Michael laughed.

"I know its dark," Ron maintained. "I'm telling you I saw something."

"It's not just dark," Michael said, "its pitch black. You couldn't have seen anything; your brain is inventing things."

"I felt something brush past me too," Ron added, "explain that."

"We've been in the dark for a long time," Michael replied, "you're just getting a little jumpy."

"Are you saying I'm mental?" Ron demanded.

"No, I'm saying we've been in the dark for a long time," Michael repeated. "Besides, maybe you really did brush past something, it's hard to tell where the walls are in this place."

With that, Michael started exploring the region to either side of Ron. He found nothing except wall several steps to the left of where they'd been standing, but a short distance to the right his outstretched and questing hands found something strange.

"Hey," he started, "there's-"

But he never got the chance to share his find, for at that moment something else decided to announce its presence, and his words were cut off.

Ron heard a strange sort of swishing sound followed by a scuffle which culminated in someone collapsing and struggling to breathe.

"Michael?" Ron called, panic rising within him.

Only the sound of someone struggling answered. Ron raced over to try and locate his friend, hoping he'd be able to find him fast enough

Unexpectedly, Ron tripped over some large struggling mass on the floor and found himself sprawled out next to it. Ignoring the protests of the limbs that had hit the ground hardest, Ron righted himself and turned to see what he could do for Michael.

Ron located one of the Muggle's arms and traced it back to his neck. He had expected this based on the sounds Michael had been making, but was relieved to find something physically constricting this throat: there was little he would have been able to do if the culprit had been a curse. However, this situation was hardly any better, it didn't take much probing to discover that Michael's assailant was large, hairy, and possessed far more legs than ought to be allowed. Michael was being strangled to death by a spider, or something very like it, a reality which stirred up all sorts of memories and phobias in Ron.

His first instinct was to jump away, and let Michael fight it out for himself, but Michael's struggles were already weakening, if he was going to find his own way out of this he would have done it by now. Ron couldn't abandon him now any more than he could when they'd first gone through the trapdoor.

That decided, Ron bit down his terror and began trying to force the creature off of Michael's neck. Despite knowing that Michael's combined power and panic couldn't dislodge the thing, Ron was still surprised at the thing's strength: his initial attempt to lift both sets of legs simultaneously only succeeded in allowing Michael's airway to open enough for him to suck in half a gulp of air before Ron's grip slipped and the creature clamped down even harder.

Trying another tactic, Ron braced his knees against the floor and used both hands to pull up on one set of legs. Contrary to what he'd wanted, the creature didn't seem affected at all, instead Michael's head and shoulders were lifted off the ground along with the creature.

Ron shifted one knee to Michael's shoulder, applying as much pressure as he dared, then tried again. This time he fared much better than either of his previous attempts. He managed to create enough space between the creature and Michael's neck to slip his fingers in, thus ensuring a firm grip, which had the added benefit of allowing Michael to breathe again. However, the Muggle only sucked in two desperate breaths before he started moaning out hoarse moans of pain. A moment later, Ron figured out why.

He'd just barely pulled half of the creature's legs clear of Michael's neck when one leg shifted and sliced across his fingers. Each of the creature's legs was tipped with a sharp claw, something neither of Ron's previous attempts had revealed. He shuddered to think about the damage the other set of legs might be causing, where his efforts were, for the moment, pulling the creature towards Michael's neck instead of away from it. However, if Michael was going to survive this, Ron had to get the creature off of him as quickly as possible, and this method was his only option.

With one final supreme effort, Ron ripped the creature away from Michael and cast it away. Over the Muggle's loud coughing and sputtering, Ron heard it right itself and race back towards them for another attempt. Acting on luck and instinct rather than any sort of skill, Ron stood up, then happened to stomp his foot at exactly the right moment, catching the creature underneath. It died with a sickening crunch. For once Ron was grateful for the darkness: his foot had been reluctant to leave the place where it had killed the creature, as though it was stuck to something. If it weren't for Ron's concern for Michael, he would have gone dancing from the spot, attempting to scrape the creature's innards off the bottom of his shoe. Instead, he raced to Michael's side.

The Muggle was still coughing weakly, but he'd managed to prop himself up on one elbow. His other hand was carefully feeling his neck.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked, then he winced, wishing he'd spotted it for a stupid question before he actually got around to saying it.

Michael didn't answer, but Ron could feel the incredulous look being directed at him even if he couldn't see it.

"What did you do?" Ron said, trying his best to sound concerned instead of accusing.

"Nothing," Michael croaked. "I just touched the wall."

Ron shrugged, there seemed to be nothing wrong with that. He'd been trying to stay clear of the walls but had run into them on occasion anyway without any ill effect. It seemed to be just a bad stroke of luck that Michael had strayed into the one spot guarded by a homicidal spider. Unable to think of any way to help, Ron had to content himself with wringing his hands, which drew attention to the fact that they were slimy with blood.

"That thing had claws," Ron blurted. "You must be bleeding."

"Yeah," Michael sighed, his voice still sounded terrible. "It's not so bad, though. Its claws must have been pretty thin and it didn't get anywhere important, I can barely even find the holes.

Ron thought Michael was being rather cavalier about this, his hand certainly didn't feel like the creature hadn't gotten anything important. Then again, he had been sliced and Michael stabbed, but he didn't think it wise to simply let this go so easily.

"Maybe I should check," Ron offered, stretching out his hand.

"No!" Michael exclaimed, slapping Ron's hand away. "I'm telling you, I'm fine."

Ron was a bit startled and annoyed by Michael's sudden change in mood, but knew that near death experiences could do that to people, he'd observed the effect several times in Harry.

"You could be poisoned, you wouldn't know what to look, er- feel for," Ron pointed out.

"And I suppose you know better?" Michael asked.

Ron had to admit Michael's point, he might know about more poisons, but spotting their symptoms was something else entirely, and Michael could probably do it just as easily considering the dark.

"We should put some pressure on it at least," Ron tried, tearing a thick strip off his sleeve. However, this turned out to be his worst mistake yet, for no sooner had he started to wrap it carefully around Michael's neck than the Muggle ripped it away and pinned him to the ground in one swift movement.

"Don't do that!" Michael said menacingly.

"Sorry, I was just trying to help," Ron replied defensively, even though he was actually feeling rather stupid. Michael had nearly been strangled to death; of course he would be sensitive to things being tied around his neck.

"Help yourself," Michael muttered, letting Ron up but catching his injured hand painfully to prove his point. The Muggle located the piece of cloth and held it to his neck instead.

"Fine," Ron muttered, pulling another strip off his sleeve. He stood up and followed Michael's footsteps, too put out to bother asking how the Muggle had known his hand was injured.

"You might have warned me," Michael said accusingly.

Ron couldn't think of a response. The injustice of Michael's statement was infuriating. Not only could Ron hardly be expected to warn Michael about every sort of dark creature in existence, but he was also the one who'd been opposed to their venture into the secret compartment in the first place.

"I've never run into anything like that before," Ron ventured after he'd forced his temper under control.

"You've never run into a spider before?" Michael asked with a laugh.

"No, I've never run into a spider that prefers to choke its prey instead of biting it," Ron clarified.

"But I suppose you have seen spiders that can kill humans," Michael pressed.

"They're around," Ron replied with a shudder.

"Then you must have had some idea that would have been better than yanking it off," Michael demanded.

"I don't have my wand!" Ron cried. "I don't even have a knife. What did you want me to do, step on it? The thing was around your neck!"

"A rock might have helped," Michael suggested angrily. "You could have tried knocking it out before ripping half my skin off."

"I didn't think of that, alright? I'm sorry," Ron admitted. "I guess I panicked, I…I don't like spiders."

"Oh," Michael said, finally coming to realize that he wasn't the only one who'd paid a price during the spider attack. "Thanks," was all he could manage to say to express the gratitude he suddenly felt at knowing that Ron had forced back a phobia in order to save him.

"Sure," Ron replied glumly, more occupied with trying to tie bandages around his own injured fingers.

"You know, I don't think I like spiders so much anymore either," Michael added, then he caught Ron by the good arm and tied on the bandages for him.

When Michael had finished, Ron thanked him and started onward toward this light, but stopped a moment later when he realized Michael wasn't with him.

"You coming?" Ron asked.

"There's another passageway branching off right here," Michael replied. "I felt the open space before that spider attacked me."

"You want to go down there instead?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Anything would be better than following that light like a couple of rats in a maze," Michael said.

"Pixies to a flame?" Ron tried, thinking the rat cliché would apply more when they were lost in the complete darkness of that other passage.

"Whatever," Michael muttered.

"You want to go into the passageway being guarded by something that almost killed you," Ron clarified.

"We don't know the spider was guarding the entrance," Michael pointed out. "It could have been there at random."

"There are no coincidences!" Ron exclaimed, "not in the Wizarding world. I thought you would have realized that by now. That spider was there for a reason, whether we see it or not."

Michael spent a moment considering, then said, "I suppose that light is there for a reason too, then."

"Sure," Ron replied.

"So we're assuming that the most likely reason for this secret passage being connected to the room we were held in is that this is some sort of trap. Wouldn't it make sense if the light was put there by the Death Eaters for us to follow," Michael continued.

"Damnit," Ron muttered, realizing his logic wouldn't stand up to Michael's.

"This way," Michael commanded, grabbing Ron's arm and leading him to the second passage, albeit more carefully this time. Even so, Ron was sure he could hear a smirk in Michael's voice.

Fortunately, no spider or creature of any sort awaited them this time and they crossed into the second passage without incident.

As they'd anticipated, no mysterious light appeared to guide their way through this passage, which, indicative of a trap or not, they had to admit had been very helpful. They frequently ran into walls and random artifacts, such as a desk which Ron tripped over spectacularly. It then started to repair itself while successfully attempting to stuff Ron into a drawer until Michael managed to rip it apart again and they both escaped.

These encounters also revealed the existence of several other side corridors which, in the absence of any other information, they would take whenever someone spun around and stopped facing the entrance. They also now had the problem of staircases to contend with, which seemed to crop up at random but always just when they'd demanded it safe to stop testing every step before they moved onward.

They continued on like this until even Michael was turned around and Ron swore that he'd run into the same mossy patch of wall at least three times. Both their nerves were thoroughly frayed and the effect of having neither a proper meal nor a night's sleep in several days was starting to make itself annoyingly obvious. However, they stood little chance anymore of finding their way back to the main corridor.

"You don't think they meant for us to stop following the light and get lost in here?" Ron ventured finally.

"Don't start," Michael muttered. "I hate reverse psychology."

Ron wasn't familiar with the term but thought he understood Michael's meaning anyway: he hadn't voiced his thought for so long because he'd been wrestling with the implications of his insight for some time.

"Any idea why we haven't come across the corridor with the light again?" Ron tried. After all, it felt like they'd walked so many passageways that surely one of them had to be where they started.

"Dunno," Michael replied, "maybe the light turned itself out after we left."

"Brilliant," Ron moaned. That possibility had occurred to him as well, but he'd tried to dismiss it, because finding that light was their only chance of getting back to the drawing room, which, in his opinion, was looking like a much better place to be.

They walked on, but there was something else that Ron had been wrestling with for some time and a few steps later it finally got the best of him.

"Sorry, about before, with the spider."

"Ron, we're past that," Michael sighed. "We need to focus on finding a way out of here."

"No, there's something I've got to say," Ron replied. "It's been really helpful, having you along, trying to fight these Death Eaters."

"Yeah, well, we're not finished yet," Michael pointed out.

"What I mean is," Ron stammered, "when Harry said that the Ministry had decided to ask for help from Muggles, I thought that we'd humor you for a few days then try and find the most polite way to say that we could manage on our own, but-"

"Wait," Michael said, cutting him off. "You weren't the ones who wanted our help?"

"No," Ron said, baffled. "It was the Ministry's idea."

"The same Ministry you're always complaining about," Michael spat. "The one that was so useless during the war that it might as well have been working against you."

"Yes," Ron replied, growing worried.

"I didn't realize we'd been forced upon you," Michael exclaimed.

"That's not what I was trying to say," Ron explained quickly. "I mean, maybe you were at first, but you're not anymore. We wouldn't have made it to that first mission at the Quidditch match without you, so thanks for helping us."

"Oh," Michael sighed. "Well, you're welcome. And sorry for yelling at you like that."

"It's alright," Ron said.

"I guess maybe you haven't realized, but Sydney and I, we work for our government. And I'm not saying that our government is perfect, because it has its flaws, but I think you should understand that when you talk about your Ministry like you do, it kind of offends us," Michael replied. "I know you don't mean to, but I guess we're all just so good at pretending that sometimes we forget that we come from different places."

"That could explain a few things," Ron offered.

"It might," Michael said.

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's get out of here."

So they forced themselves onward even as their exhaustion from lack of sleep and food became more pronounced with each passing step. Ron found himself wishing that he could just send up sparks, then they could sit and wait until it was all over, but he knew there was no hope of being rescued so easily from this place. Of course, it was a demeaning possibility, he hadn't even been tempted to send up signal sparks in years, he usually had other options, especially since he'd come…of…age…

"Michael!" Ron exclaimed, but he was deprived of the chance to lament his stupidity and Michael the chance to berate him for his constant pointless interruptions by a strange occurrence. They might not have noticed if they hadn't spent the past few hours with their ears straining for any sound within the passageways, but as it was, the difference was obvious: Ron's voice had taken much longer than usual to echo back at them.

"The corridor just got a lot bigger," Michael said awestruck.

"Yeah," Ron replied.

Together, they struck off to the left and counted more than forty steps before they reached solid wall. A similarly large distance separated the right wall from where they guessed they'd started. However, these measurements soon proved themselves to be inaccurate, for as they were making their way back to where they thought the entrance was, both tripped over what seemed to be a large stone table, an obstruction which had not made itself known until then. However neither the table nor the size of the room remained their primary concern, for a slide and a click echoed throughout the cavern and they both knew that it no longer mattered that they weren't sure where the entrance was, for it had been shut. They were trapped.

"Great," Michael muttered, sinking to the floor.

Ron, however, had a different take on their situation, in fact, he considered this to be the most progress they'd made since first entering the labyrinth. This was, after all, the only place that seemed to acknowledge their presence, and the table seemed to indicate that they were in for some sort of test. On the other hand, progress, in this case, was far from encouraging: not only could he not see what he was doing, but unless the puzzle involved chess, he was unlikely to be any good at it. Even as Ron pondered this, the room obligingly bathed itself in a pale blue light, as though wishing to even the score.

Their appreciation for the sudden light didn't prevent them from being dazzled by it, a full minute passed before they could even force their eyes open. As soon as they could see relatively straight they turned their attention to the contents of the table. The results weren't promising: there certainly wasn't a chess set in sight. The entire table was covered with identical rectangular impressions connected by lines. The only exception was the side nearest them, which instead consisted for a larger impression filled with rectangular tiles, clearly intended to be placed in a corresponding location on the table.

Ron picked up a tile and found two words etched on one side, "Phineas Nigellus."

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it. He tried several more tiles but had even less luck, they all spoke of people he was certain he'd never heard of before.

"Ron!" Michael exclaimed, "isn't that…"

He seemed unable to finish his thought, so instead he shoved a tile into Ron's hand. It said, "Narcissa Malfoy." Suddenly, everything fell horribly into place, the pattern of the rectangles on the table, the names, everything.

"Oh no," Ron moaned, "leave it to the Malfoys, of all the pompous, egotistical…"

"What?" Michael asked.

"They're trying to prove the superiority of the purebloods by creating a test they think only a pureblood could complete," Ron sighed.

Michael gave him a look.

"A pureblood who isn't a 'blood traitor,'" Ron amended. "We have to arrange all these names in their family tree."

"So you can't do it?" Michael asked.

"Being pureblood doesn't magically endow a person with a complete knowledge of their own lineage," Ron muttered. "That's a fundamental difference between their family and mine, we mostly don't care about keeping track of fifty generations worth of ancestors."

"Ron, I can't help you with this," Michael said. "Why don't you just fill in what you can, then we can start guessing."

"Fine," Ron muttered, placing Narcissa's tile in the appropriate spot and sifting through the pile for more names he knew. His immediate family, the Potters, and Sirius Black were all conspicuously absent, something which under different circumstances, Ron might have found as justification for riotous laughter, but as it was, he would have been grateful for all the familiar names he could find, and he was too busy fighting back the urge to break certain puzzle pieces in half.

"It's ironic," Ron said as he contemplated the two titles labeled Bartemius Crouch, "if Hermione was here we might have a chance of getting this right, she was the only person who ever paid attention in History of Magic. Some of these people might have been mentioned."

As the discovery of familiar names occurred less and less often, Ron began resorting to guesswork, but he had the benefit of Michael's help now, whatever it was worth.

"Tinaman Malfoy," Michael said. "Male or female."

"I dunno, male," Ron guessed. "Does Macheto Prince seem like the type to have a sibli- ah!"

A wave of freezing cold water had just washed over his feet.

"Where did that come from?" Ron demanded.

"It started seeping in a little after you started," Michael replied.

"And you didn't think it would be a good idea to tell me?" Ron was now performing a stupid sort of hopping dance, trying not to leave either foot in the water for too long, although his attempts were being hindered by the rising water, which had now topped his ankles.

"I thought we'd have a couple hours at least before it even reached the top of the table," Michael replied.

"Looks like your computations were a little off," Ron said, climbing up on the side of the table so his legs were clear of the water again.

"The water was coming in much slower at first and this is a big room," Michael explained, following suit, "and I wasn't counting on having to contend with hypothermia."

Their work increased to a frantic rate, but so did the speed of the water entering the cavern. Soon water covered the table, then their shoulders and they had to duck beneath the surface to search blearily through the water for a location for the tiles. Not long after that they had to read the tiles while treading water at the surface, a surface which was soon nearly three yards above the table. They had to take off their shoes to aid their swimming, or risk tiring too quickly and drowning. Several times, the tiles slipped through their numb fingers and sank to the bottom and they had to waste their precious time retrieving them.

Michael was about to return to the table when Ron resurfaced suddenly, coughing and sputtering. The poor Wizard's swimming skills were passable, but his diving skills were not, and his ability to tread water was downright lamentable.

"How m-many t-tiles are left?" Michael stammered as he grabbed Ron by the back of the robes to help him stay afloat.

They both knew it was a feudal question; after all, placing every tile would only help if they had been correct on every single guess, which seemed unlikely if the amount of water surrounding them was any indication at all.

"Th-Thirty?" Ron supposed through chattering teeth, shaking water out of his ears.

As Michael watched Ron something occurred to him and he'd sunk up to his eyes before he realized he'd stopped treading water to think.

"Ron, m-my ears haven't p-popped!" Michael exclaimed.

"G-good for th-them," Ron shivered, still trying to clear the water out of his own, "b-but th-that's not s-so s-strange, is it? I m-mean, we've b-been d-diving, wouldn't th-that th-throw it off a little?"

"Th-that's true," Michael conceded, "b-but the water's r-risen at least th-three f-feet s-since I've c-come up here and m-my ears haven't p-popped th-that entire t-time."

"D-does th-this help us?" Ron asked, studying the tiles he'd brought up.

"I th-think it d-does," Michael replied. "If th-this r-room r-really is s-sealed, th-then there s-should still b-be as m-much air in here as th-there was when this s-started, b-but it's in a m-much smaller space, so we should notice a p-pressure difference, b-but there isn't one, which means that the air must be escaping."

"And if air c-can escape so can we," Ron finished.

"Well, I d-don't know about th-that," Michael admitted. "We're a lot b-bigger than air, but it's a s-start."

Michael held a wet hand up out of the water, hoping to detect a breeze. The method might have worked if his hand wasn't already numb, but as it was, no one side of his hand felt any colder than another. Ron, on the other hand, caught on to what Michael was trying to do and came up with his own method, pulling out a small tuft of his hair and separating one strand, which he held up, watching to see which way it bent. Fortunately, it obliginged even though Ron's flailing had increased dramatically now that he could no longer paddle with one hand. Since Michael's hair was too short to perform such a trick, he pulled one of Ron's discarded hairs from where it was floating and used it instead. Together, they traced the faint breeze to a small, covered ventilation shaft in the ceiling near a wall. It looked just big enough for them to climb into. The water level was about eight feet below it, so Michael took to the wall and climbed.

When Michael could advance no further, he reached out to the grate and pressed up on it, but it didn't budge. He then hooked his hand through the grate and swung away from the wall. By all rights the grate should have come off at this and Michael should have fallen back into the water, but it didn't. He tried grabbing the grate with his right hand as well then pulling himself up and dropping down while still holding the grate several times, but the cover still held firm.

"Ron, g-grab my legs and p-pull d-down," Michael commanded, still shivering.

Ron didn't see how that would help, since the water had already reached Michael's feet, but he did what he was told and thoroughly confused himself for nearly a minute by trying to pull himself out of the water while simultaneously trying to swim downwards with his legs.

"This isn't g-going to work," Michael conceded finally. "Get out of the way, I'm c-coming down."

When Ron was clear, Michael dropped the shrinking distance down to the water. He tired to keep his hands under the murky surface, but it wasn't enough to prevent Ron from spotting the deep gashes across his fingers the grate had given him.

"You're b-bleeding," Ron started.

"I'm f-fine," Michael retorted. "Unless there's a sh-shark in here, if we don't s-solve this in the next few m-minutes it won't m-matter anyway. When we first c-came in here you had an idea."

"I d-did?" Ron asked blankly. "Oh, yeah, it occurred to me that I might be able to D-disapparate out of here."

"I th-thought you c-couldn't Apparate in here," Michael replied dully, looking let down.

"We assumed that anti D-disapparation charms would be one of the first d-defenses the Death Eaters would put on their headquarters, but we never actually t-tried," Ron explained. "B-besides, we have no idea how far we've traveled, we could be a mile away from Malfoy M-manor by now."

"T-try it," Michael said.

Ron, however, wasn't prepared to go quite so easily. "I c-can't take you with me," he said guiltily.

"That's fine," Michael replied, "just g-get out of here if you can."

"B-but!" Ron stammered.

"Just go!" Michael bellowed.

Reluctantly, Ron cleared his mind and began focusing on the three D's. However, it felt as though something was blocking his attempts, no matter what he tried, it was like there was a great wall in his mind separating him from his destination.

"It's no g-good," Ron said finally, "this p-place has a charm on it."

"You sure?" Michael asked.

"If I could have g-gotten out of here, I would have!" Ron exclaimed.

"Then this d-doesn't have anything to do with having to leave me b-behind?" Michael pressed.

"D-do you want it to be?" Ron demanded, sounding a bit more hostile than he meant to because Michael had struck a nerve.

"Maybe you know that if it c-came down to it, I would never leave you b-behind," Michael said.

"Apparating with another person is about the most d-dangerous thing a wizard can do!" Ron yelled. "I'm not too k-keen on splicing myself t-together with you, what about you?"

"I'd be willing to risk it!" Michael replied. Their heads were now hitting the ceiling.

"I'll have you know I was p-planning to Apparate into the ventilation sh-shaft to see if I could do…"

But Ron didn't get the chance to finish explaining himself, because at that moment there was a deafening explosion. The grate covering the ventilation shaft had blown off.

"N-nice work," Michael said lightly as he approached the hole.

"Wait, wh-what?" Ron asked. "You set up that entire argument to see if I'd g-get mad enough to m-make that explode?"

"Yep," Michael replied as he boosted Ron into the space then climbed in himself.

"How d-did you know to do that?" Ron gasped, still trying to catch up with what had just happened.

"Keep m-moving, the water's still rising," Michael said before answering. "Remember after the incident with the t-trunk when you were trying to figure out if I was actually a Wizard and didn't know it?"

"Sure," Ron grunted, squirming his way forward through the tube, which was, fortunately, horizontal.

"One of the things you asked me was whether st-strange things had ever happened around me when I was angry or sc-scared," Michael continued. "So I was thinking about that, but I d-decided that you must have been even more scared than I was r-right then."

"Oh, I was, was I?" Ron asked accusingly.

"Malfoy was p-pointing his wand at your head," Michael sighed. "Either you were scared or you're a f-fool, and I don't think you're a fool."

"I didn't make that tr-trunk open," Ron maintained, shivering. Somehow he felt even colder now that he was out of the water.

"Yes you d-did," Michael replied. "Whether you want to believe it or not, if you need something b-badly enough you have a way of m-making it happen, even if you don't have your wand."

"Alright, fine," Ron muttered. "I opened the tr-trunk and blew off the g-grate. Why did you have to stage an argument? You didn't think that our impending d-death by drowning would be enough to sc-scare me into doing the same thing?"

"No, I figured it would," Michael said, "but I d-didn't want to risk it happening just before we p-passed out. That wouldn't be m-much use, you see."

"You shouldn't do that again," Ron said, halting his forward progress.

Michael decided not to urge him forward since the water had stopped rising after it was a few inches deep on the duct floor. "Why not, it worked," he said instead.

"Because I can't c-control my m-magic when I get angry like that," Ron replied.

"It seems to d-do what you want it to anyway," Michael pointed out.

"You d-don't understand," Ron said with a shudder. "I could have b-blown you up as easily as I did that grate, I could feel it. If I had been thinking about you instead of the grate at that m-moment things p-probably would have turned out d-different."

"Oh," Michael gasped.

"I c-couldn't live with myself if I'd d-done that," Ron said.

"I'm sorry," Michael stammered. "I had n-no idea."

"Well, you m-might have if you'd b-bothered to ask," Ron replied stiffly, "instead of using me like one of your gadgets."

They crawled along in silence for a time, neither even expressing joy when the duct began to slope gently upward, at last freeing them of the icy water, although not of the deep chill that seemed to have filtered right to their bones. Light filtered in from nearby vents too small to squeeze through. They never saw anyone on the other side of them, but they were careful to make as little noise as possible while passing by. Collections of dust began sticking to their wet robes, although the tufts of hair and lint didn't resemble dust bunnies so much as dust mammoths. Ron swore he saw one move of its own accord.

Shortly after the duct became wide enough for them to crawl on their hands and knees they encountered the largest opening to the inhabitable parts of the mansion yet, a most promising find, or at least it would have been were it not for what was happening on the other side.

Ron heard a door open and shut as he passed the vent and paused to investigate.

"Hey, M-Michael," Ron whispered as he tried to wring some of the water out of his sleeve. "Isn't that…"

"Sydney," Michael gasped.

"Not exactly the sort of r-rescue I had in m-mind."

"Maybe she really was c-captured like Malfoy said."

"The Imperious Curse c-could do that."

"Which one's th-that?"

"The one that makes p-people do what the c-caster wants."

"So they're c-controlling her?"

"Can you think of another r-reason why she'd act like that?"

"Not r-really."

"I can't figure out why they'd b-bother, if she's under the Imperius Curse, they'd have figured out that she's a M-muggle by now."

"Something else is going on here."

-----------------------------

-----------------------------

Next chapter...the big fight!


	23. For Good This Time

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, comic strips, kangaroos, and shoelaces are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Let Your Troubles Roll By" by Carbon Leaf.

The battle begins!

**Chapter 23: For Good This Time**

A group of five Death Eaters, four men and a woman, burst noisily through the front door, laughing loudly and careening drunkenly into each other.

"…and then," the woman slurred, "then I said, 'Alright, Muggle, I guess I'll have to let you go,' and I cursed him and stole back the potion he'd bought from me. I'll bet he's still trying to figure out what happened."

Their laughter spiked even louder, punctuated by shouts of "Stupid Muggles!" and "Serves 'im right!" Strangely, the woman's mirth didn't quite seem to reach her eyes.

They turned down a hallway and began tripping their way toward the kitchen.

One of the men burst out, "Did I ever tell you about the time I bested four Mudbloods in a duel?"

"Only about a hundred times, Rookwood," said another man, hooking an arm about his companion's neck in an effort to stay standing.

"I haven't heard it," the woman said with an inviting smile.

"Right, well," Rookwood started, but he was cut off by a third man, who said, "It wasn't a fair duel."

"Yeah, because it was four on one," Rookwood replied.

"Nah," said the fourth man with mock thoughtfulness, "it's because you switched out their wands with fakes."

"I did not!" Rookwood exclaimed.

"Oh, then you're referring to the four third years you met in Hogsmeade," said the second man.

"As I recall, they nearly overpowered you, once they decided that the situation allowed them to use magic, and that was before a group of teachers showed up to help," one of the men picked up.

Instead of attempting a retort, Rookwood instead hit the offender with a spell, or he would have if he wasn't so drunk. All he actually managed was a shower of sparks which hit the wall two feet away from his intended target. Soon all four men were engaged in a fierce battle, throwing punches and spells without caring who received them or what sort of damage it caused, but their battle soon dissolved in a competition to impress the woman, who had managed to stay clear of the fight. This continued until they reached the kitchen. The men kicked a cowering House Elf out of the way, then ransacked the place looking for the stash of Firewhiskey. They finally located it and five glasses then sat down around a table and poured themselves drinks.

Within half an hour two of the men had passed out across the table and the rest were barely conscious.

Suddenly, the woman stood up, teetering dangerously, one hand clutched over the stomach and the other on her mouth.

"Bathroom?" she asked desperately, trying not to vomit.

"'S down the hall," a man replied groggily, lifting a limp arm slightly to indicate a direction.

The woman rushed out of the kitchen but slowed down when she was about half way down the hall. It looked for a moment as though she wasn't going to reach her destination, then all signs of intoxication disappeared.

Quietly, Sydney checked her surroundings for Death Eaters, and, finding none, she took off down a perpendicular hallway. Dobby's map put her target, an apparent nexus of most of Malfoy Manor's defensive spells, in a small room on the second floor. Sydney climbed the first staircase she found and located the room with relative ease. It was locked, of course, something she'd been afraid of, but it didn't stand up to her skill at lock picking; within thirty seconds of finding the room she'd forced her way inside.

Contrary to what she'd hoped, the hard part of her task was far from over. No one had been sure what to expect in this room, after all, most Wizard dwellings had their systems coordinated purely through magic, so junction boxes were practically unheard of. Sydney certainly hadn't seen any electric lighting thus far. What she found in that room was far more detrimental to any worst case scenario they had conceived: the room was completely empty.

Sydney couldn't explain it. Dobby had sworn this room was important to the upkeep of the house wide systems. There was, of course, the possibility that her target was hidden, perhaps tipped off by her method of entry, or able to sense she was a Muggle. She desperately ran her hands over the blank walls, searching for any indication that what she sought was hidden behind them, but she found nothing. She knocked on the walls, tried to force her way through them, even made a valiant attempt at the ceiling, but nothing seemed to help.

Reluctantly, Sydney began searching through her pockets. They'd anticipated the possibility that she wouldn't be able to take down any of the systems and she'd compensated for it by packing a small amount of explosive material. They'd all hoped she wouldn't have to use it because they weren't sure what sort of effect such an explosion would have on the surrounding magic, but with nothing else for it, she pulled a glob of C-4 out of one pocket and a detonator out of another, attached them, set the timer to thirty seconds and rushed out of the room.

In her rush to get out of the blast radius, Sydney forgot to check if the way was clear and ran straight into a passing Death Eater.

"Oi, watch it," he grunted dismissively.

"Sorry," Sydney mumbled, trying to use her hair to obscure her face while still acting as naturally as she could, despite the fact that she could hardly breath for fear.

For a moment it seemed as though she would avoid arousing suspicion, she and the Death Eater had nearly passed each other when he suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," he said, studying her.

"I'm new," Sydney replied, bolstering her voice with whatever insolence she could manage.

"What's your name?" he pressed.

"Nicolette Pierce," Sydney improvised promptly. "Now will you please let go of me?"

"No, I don't think so," he replied, gripping Sydney's arm tighter instead.

"Listen," Sydney exclaimed. "Rookwood invited me, I've already been inducted into the Death Eaters."

"Rookwood is passed out in the kitchen, he's in no state to vouch for anyone," the Death Eater sneered. "How unfortunate fo-"

He didn't get the chance to finish his speech, because Sydney wrenched herself free of his grasp, took two steps and dove to the floor. A second later, the C-4 exploded. The lights flickered and the whole building gave a strange sort of shudder. Her first task completed, Sydney started to scramble to her feet, but the Death Eater grabber her by the back of her robes and pulled her down.

"Right," he said as he forced her on her back and readied a punch.

-------------------------

Hermione had been hiding in the bushes at the perimeter of Malfoy Manor for hours, shaking with nerves and cold. Members of the Order were scattered around, signs of their presence only visible to those who knew where to look for them. Hermione could just make out a disillusioned pair near the steps to the front door, putting the final touches on the complex system of wards they had constructed.

Everyone was waiting for a signal that they could enter the building, but they had no idea how long it would take, even Sydney hadn't been sure about what kind of time she would need to ingratiate herself with the Death Eaters then get away.

Just as Hermione began cursing herself for not insisting upon disguising herself and doing the task instead of Sydney, the lights inside the Manor dimmed and something changed. It was as though a buzzing in her ear, so constant that she'd learned to ignore it, had suddenly stopped. She suspected that the defenses guarding the building were either disabled or severely weakened, and judging by the sudden rustling in nearby trees and bushes, the others thought so to. Steeling herself up, Hermione sent a signal to Harry, then raced toward the building, heading to its left side instead of the front door.

She had her wand out, ready for any opposition, but met none and reached her target, a small air vent, without incident. After magically pulling off the cover she squirmed inside the vertical vent, waving her wand to lift herself upward until she reached a horizontal stretch. For one terrible moment she thought the space might be too small for her to maneuver forward, but she managed it. Her task was vital and could be achieved no other way, but magically expanding the tube would have been difficult and could alert the Death Eaters to her location. Hermione had assigned herself this task for one reason, she was smaller in stature that almost everyone in the Order. The only other two people who could have carried it out were Tonks, whose talents were needed elsewhere, and Ginny, but Hermione hadn't been sure if she would be able to explain the intricacies of this task in a letter and hadn't wanted to risk such instructions being intercepted.

The tube was utterly dark. Hermione lit her wand but didn't dare give it anywhere near the intensity she would have preferred. Her robes frequently caught on sharp edges but she couldn't unsnag them, so she had to carry on despite whatever rips she could hear occurring. Her hands and arms became increasingly dusty as she progressed and she could scarcely bear to think of the state she'd be in by the time she emerged. She'd have to perform a lot of cleaning spells on herself before she could expect to last longer than a second in a Death Eater's company without arousing suspicion.

Occasionally, Hermione would come to a patch of the tube that was lit slightly, but she considered these cause for concern rather than celebration, for it meant that the vent attached to some hallway or room nearby. She took note of these openings and compared them to her memorized version of Dobby's map even as she extinguished her wand and slunk by as quietly as she could. When passing by these she often heard hurried footsteps or snippets of conversation, all of which sounded agitated. She had yet to hear any sound of battle, but wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or not.

Just as Hermione was beginning to feel claustrophobic, the tunnel began to widen obligingly until she could crawl normally.

Hermione passed by a large opening on her left, something that would have been unremarkable, except that she heard voices echoing from within it: considerably louder voices than any she had heard that originated outside of the ventilation system. It couldn't have been anyone from the Order, not unless they had been forced to improvise on a grand scale. Her hand tightening around her wand, Hermione went to investigate.

"So you really think it's the Order," one asked, the voices becoming more distinct as she approached, but not enough for her to try and identify who they were.

"No one else would try and attack this place," the other replied. "I'm really tired of this sitting in the dark idea, though." It took everything Hermione had not to gasp at her own stupidity as she extinguished her wand.

"No kidding," the first voice muttered. "Maybe we should get out of here and see if we can help"

As far as Hermione could judge, she was as close to them as she could get without risking running into them. She paused for a moment, trying to determine their positions as well as she could, then lit her wand and lunged toward them in the same movement.

"Ow, hey!"

"What the…"

Both people were thoroughly blinded, but Hermione, who up until very recently had the benefit of some illumination, took less time to adjust and tackled one of the people in a huge hug.

"Ron!" she cried.

"Hermione," Ron choked, she was making it difficult for him to breathe.

They only remained that way for a few seconds before Hermione suddenly stiffened and broke free, brightening her wand again and pointing it at them.

"How do I know you're actually Ron and Michael?" she demanded.

The former captives looked at each other. It was a valid question which would have worked both ways if Malfoy Manor wasn't currently under attack by the Order. They knew the answer to it, but getting her to believe them would be difficult, they weren't exactly carrying identification.

"It's us," Ron tried, not really expecting it to work.

"You were captured," Hermione replied.

"We escaped," Michael explained.

Hermione stared.

"We're still working on it," Ron said with a shrug.

"You could be Death Eaters who've drunk Polyjuice potion, or you could be under the Imperius Curse," Hermione started.

"Well, you could sit here and watch us for an hour and see if we turn into someone else," Ron suggested, "but you don't look like you have time for that."

"Ask us something," Michael offered.

"That doesn't actually work very well," Hermione sighed.

"Hermione," Ron said, "I know you, either you're going to figure this out in the next few minutes or you're going to tie us up, but we've been tied up for hours, days maybe, and I really don't want to do that again. We're not even armed, so will you please try asking us something."

Hermione thought about it for a moment. It looked as though she was about to tie them up anyway, then she said, "Alright, Ron, how did we meet."

"We were on the train to Hogwarts to start our first year," Ron replied confidently. "You were helping Neville find Trevor and came in to Harry's and my compartment to ask if we'd seen him. I was about to try a bit of magic to turn Scabbers yellow and you stayed to watch. The spell was a dud. Then you embarrassed Harry by reciting all the books he was in and made us both nervous by saying you'd memorized all the spell books already."

"What was the incantation?" Hermione asked.

"What?" Ron said, taken aback.

"What was the incantation for the spell you used to try and turn Scabbers yellow?" Hermione replied.

"It…it was…um," Ron fumbled. It was as though his own mind was attempting to torture him by holding the answer just out of reach.

Hermione closed her eyes sadly for a moment then turned to Michael and asked, "Who came to your first briefing about Wizards to bring you back here?"

"Arthur Weasley," Michael answered.

"How did you and Sydney meet?"

"She'd just turned herself in to the CIA. I was the agent who debriefed her," Michael replied. "How do you know about that?"

"Sydney told me," Hermione explained.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow!" Ron burst out suddenly.

To Michael, this seemed like a rather odd thing to say, but Hermione brightened considerably.

"Do we pass then?" Ron asked.

However, Hermione was still not quite satisfied, although she was rather reluctant to use the only method of determination still left to her. She would have preferred so much that there was some spell that could guarantee that they were telling the truth, she would have trusted it much more than her instincts alone.

Reluctantly, Hermione took Ron's arm and pushed his torn sleeve up to the elbow then located one of the scars the brains had left in their fifth year and traced it with a finger as far as she could. After that, she took hold of his shoulders and looked him in the eyes, studying him for almost thirty seconds. Even though she wasn't sure she had found what she was looking for, Hermione had no reason to believe she hadn't and she enveloped Ron in another massive hug, one which wasn't marred by fear or suspicion.

"You're a mess," Ron said when they broke apart, attempting to wipe off the dusty residue she'd added to his already dirty robes.

"You're all wet," Hermione replied.

"It's a long story," Michael said. "One that involves almost drowning."

"Malfoy decided to give us a little test," Ron explained. "Something about proving the superiority of the purebloods. It would've been handy to have you along, actually."

"Needed a Mudblood sacrifice, did you?" Hermione asked cynically.

"Nah, a historian," Ron replied.

"I suppose you figured it out, though," Hermione said.

"Not really, actually," Michael replied.

"We found a solution Malfoy didn't anticipate," Ron said. "But I assume you're here for a reason."

"Oh!" Hermione said with a start. "Yeah, I've got to keep going. If you follow me I'll show you how to get out, although you won't be able to leave the property, the wards are already in place."

"Hermione," Ron said, crawling after her. "If the Order's fighting the Death Eaters then we want to help."

"But you don't have your wand," Hermione reminded him. "Michael doesn't have his gun."

"You can summon them here," Ron said, not believing for a second that Hermione had forgotten she had that power.

"That could give away our position," Hermione explained as she began crawling back toward her previous route. "It's very important that we aren't found until my task is carried out."

"Well, great, we can help you," Michael said.

"You were held captive for three days," Hermione replied. "Do you really think you're in any shape to battle Death Eaters?"

"We're in perfect shape to fight them," Ron said, a fire in his eye, "and you would be too."

"Fine," Hermione muttered, "follow me."

She led them through the complex system of ducts until even Michael was dizzy.

"This is it," she said about five minutes later.

"How can you tell?" Ron asked. To him this looked just like any other patch of ventilation shaft.

"If you'd listen for a minute you'd be able to tell as well," Hermione replied dismissively.

Ron scowled but took her advice and discovered her to be right as usual: a soft humming noise was emanating from below them.

Hermione brought out her wand very close to the floor of the duct, searching for something. She must have found it, because a moment later she extinguished her wand and pulled a flap out of the floor. Several large cylinders stood in the room below.

"What're those?" Ron asked.

Hermione carefully replaced the flap and whispered, "Boilers, water heaters."

"What do they have to do with anything?" Ron said.

"If allowed to overheat, they will make a large amount of noise," Hermione explained. "This hallway is a dead end. My task is to draw as many Death Eaters here as I can and keep them here by whatever means necessary."

"You're a distraction?" Ron exclaimed.

"Sydney's a distraction," Hermione replied as she carefully tossed a few things down on top of the boilers. "I'm a diversion. Note the subtle difference."

"Yeah, they're spelled differently," Ron muttered.

"You were sent to do this alone?" Michael asked.

"I volunteered to do this alone," Hermione clarified. "You shouldn't think I don't have a plan, and you might notice that I'm not alone anymore."

"So you'll let us help?" Ron asked happily.

"Well, I can't send you away now, can I?" Hermione replied. "I'll summon your weapons when I set off the boilers."

"There's still one thing," Ron said. "Last time we tried attacking this place the idea was to avoid alerting them to our presence."

"That didn't work so well," Michael reminded him.

"Well it might have worked if there wasn't…if I hadn't…you know," Ron trailed off.

"Actually, nothing's changed," Hermione explained. "Everything we're doing is designed to make it look like natural occurrences, aided by the fact that if something goes wrong when magic's involved things tend to go bad very quickly."

"Don't I know it," Ron muttered.

When there were no further questions, Hermione pointed her wand at all the boilers in turn until they were all blowing steam and whistling in an amazingly dissonant chorus that seemed likely to wake the entire street. Hermione then summoned Ron's wand and Michael's gun, not forgetting the ammunition. However, before she returned the Muggle's weapon to its rightful owner, she cast a silencing charm on it, earning herself and incredulous look from Ron, who thought that the deafening roar of the boilers rendered such a precaution completely unnecessary.

As Hermione had predicted, two Death Eaters came over to investigate. Before they'd even gotten passed the head scratching phase, Ron and Hermione had stunned them and Hermione had cleverly created the illusion of a puncture in one of the boilers that looked as though it could have exploded and knocked the pair of Death Eaters unconscious.

They repeated this cycle several times as more Death Eaters came into view until the annoyed villains started showing up in large enough numbers that they couldn't incapacitate them all at once or even have any confidence that they'd complete the task before the next group arrived. When this occurred Hermione flicked her wand and the boilers stopped whistling immediately. There was a moment of blissful silence, then Hermione dropped several small pellets into the room below. Within five seconds the boiler room was pitch black. Then she closed and sealed the hole from the ventilation shaft into the boiler room.

"Let's go," Hermione whispered. "Keep quiet."

Both Ron and Michael wished she'd been a bit more forthcoming about the details of her plan, but followed her without argument.

Hermione magically lowered them down a short vertical stretch then led them along another horizontal patch until they reached an opening into the hallway large enough for them all to crawl through. Immediately upon freeing herself of the ventilation shaft, Hermione tossed more darkness pellets into the boiler room. When Ron joined her in the hallway they both started shooting stunning spells at random into the room. Michael, the last one out, was unwilling to risk killing anyone with a wayward shot, so he chose to keep an eye on the hallway behind the Wizards instead, in case any other Death Eaters came along.

After several minutes of this, all sounds within the boiler room ceased. Satisfied, Hermione summoned all of the Death Eater's wands and conjured a solid wall blocking the only remaining way out of the hallway.

"You know they won't stay stunned forever," Ron pointed out.

"Yes," Hermione replied.

"And that, wandless or not, they're bound to find a way out of there," Ron continued.

"Yes," Hermione repeated.

"Doesn't that worry you at all?" Ron pressed.

Hermione pulled a small device out of her pocket and pushed a button on it. "Sydney lent me something that would constantly measure motion in the room," she explained. "I modified it to make sure it would work in here. I tossed the sensors on top of the boilers. They're high enough that it won't be set off by any of the Death Eaters even if they stand up, but it will detect any movement in the walls, even if there's an explosion below where the sensor can see. It will still notice the vibrations in the walls if they're large enough."

"And if it does?" Michael asked.

"The boilers will explode," Hermione replied.

Ron stared. That couldn't mean what he thought it did because Hermione had said it so coolly, like she was back in Divination regarding one of Professor Trelawney's phony predictions.

"But won't that," Ron started.

"Kill them?" Hermione asked. "Yes."

"Isn't that a little extreme?" Ron asked.

"Do you really want to go on like this?" Hermione demanded, "fighting for your survival every day against a bunch of crazed maniacs. You spent three days as a hostage, you're uniquely qualified to know what they're like. Most of them have already escaped from Azkaban two or three times!"

"But does that really justify killing them?" Ron cried. "They won't even have any warning."

"Yes they will," Hermione replied. "I left a note somewhere in there warning them about what would happen if they try to escape."

"Oh," Ron said. That made him feel a little better, but he still wasn't quite comfortable with the idea.

"What'd you do with your shoes?" Hermione asked, studying Ron for the first time since she'd found him and Michael.

"What?" Ron asked, blankly. "Oh! I forgot, he had to take them off to swim."

"Alright, well, nice socks," Hermione replied.

Ron smiled at her and wiggled his big toe where it was poking through the cloth.

-------------------------

Sydney had a split second in which to decide how to defend herself. All her training screamed at her to dodge the punch then regain her footing. However, everything she'd learned since entering the Wizarding world maintained that as long as this Death Eater still had his wand, she didn't stand a chance.

She felt her nose break as the Death Eater hit her and tasted blood as it streamed down her face, but both pain and disgust were tempered because her focus was on her own hands as they impacted the location of his right pocket with as much force as she could muster. Her efforts paid off: Sydney felt something break under her hands and was fairly certain it wasn't the Death Eater's ribs.

When the Death Eater heard the crunch of his wand breaking he backed off Sydney, howling with rage. The Muggle hadn't been optimistic enough to anticipate this eventuality, but took full advantage of it. Sydney stood and threw her own punch at her adversary, but wasn't quite quick enough to land it before he'd regained his guard. Instead, he caught her hand and sent her flying past him, tripping her as she went. Sydney's momentum sent her all the way to the nearby wall. She regained her balance just before running headlong into it and instead planted her foot on the wall a few feet above the floor and propelled herself into a flying kick aimed directly at the Death Eater's left temple. However, a moment before impact, he moved his head out of the way and instead grabbed her foot and twisted it and her into a horizontal spin. Sydney landed on the floor, hearing a loud crack from somewhere in the vicinity of her right hand as she awkwardly caught her fall, but paid it no further attention, she was too busy trying to figure out how her assailant could anticipate all her attacks. Not since she'd begun training as a field agent had Sydney felt so thoroughly outclassed. It seemed that no matter what she threw at this Death Eater, he knew the best way to counter it and turn it to his own advantage. What's more, she couldn't fathom how a Death Eater had become so skilled at hand to hand combat, especially since one motto of their clan was the annihilation of all Muggles.

Growing desperate now, Sydney tried every move she knew in the quickest succession her perpetual defeats would allow, but nothing even stunned the Death Eater long enough for her to run and hide or go for her gun.

Sydney couldn't explain how it happened, but she suddenly found herself thrown to the ground on her stomach. As she tried to stand, the Death Eater stepped viciously on her left hand. There was no ignoring the crunch of breaking bones this time. Before she'd even had the chance to try and block out the pain he placed his knee and what felt like most of his weight on the middle of her back. She didn't know how such a simple thing could cause so much pain or why her back hadn't broken yet. To make matters worse, she'd landed with her right arm, broken wrist and all, underneath her body. Her hand felt strangely contorted and liable to break off.

Unable to help herself, Sydney let off a quiet moan of pain and tried to squirm away, but this only made the Death Eater laugh and press down on her spine even harder.

"Not so tough now," he gloated.

Suddenly, the weight on Sydney's back was released and the Death Eater crumpled in a heap next to her. At that point, Sydney was so relieved to be rid of the Death Eater that she didn't particularly care whether her rescuer was friend or foe, but that didn't stop her from being relieved when she rolled over and found Ginny kneeling next to her.

Sydney hadn't gotten much of a chance to meet Ginny while they were at Hogwarts, but her relief quickly melted into dismay as she studied the witch, not because of any injury she could observe, but because she hadn't realized just how young Ginny was. Sydney hadn't been very quiet about her disapproval with Harry, Ron, and Hermione for getting themselves involved in life threatening battles at such a young age. Still, Sydney couldn't be too unhappy with Ginny, after all, if she hadn't come along just then, there was no telling what might have happened.

Sydney sat up and made to dab at her bleeding nose with her sleeve, but only succeeded in drawing attention to her bruised and swelling wrist and fingers. Ginny, who'd been about to offer Sydney a hand to pull her to her feet immediately rethought her tactic and stepped behind Sydney to pull her up by the upper arms instead.

"Thanks," Sydney said groggily. Her broken nose had caused a marked decrease in her sense of balance, which, while easy to ignore in the heat of combat, was starting to effect her.

"Don't mention it," Ginny replied.

"Can you do anything about this?" Sydney asked, holding up her hands.

Ginny's face fell. "I suppose I could try," she started.

"Then do it!" Sydney demanded. "I can't help unless I can use my hands."

"The trouble is, I'm alright at mending skin," Ginny replied, "but bones are a different thing entirely. I know the spell, but I've never actually tried it."

"I can't help anyone like this," Sydney sighed. "Do what you can."

Ginny suddenly brightened and said, "Okay!" It took Sydney a second to realize that the witch's previous reluctance had merely been a convincing front which she had constructed to ensure that Sydney would be aware of the risks involved. Ginny was, in fact, eager to try out a new bit of magic.

Ginny gently took hold of Sydney's broken left hand and, after studying it, closed her eyes and flicked her wand. The bruising and swelling disappeared, taking the pain with them, but it was immediately obvious that something hadn't gone quite right. Sydney's once long and elegant fingers now looked shorter and mismatched and small bulges now erupted from random places, at least two on each finger and one in the center of her palm. Apparently, the bones had knitted together as they were supposed to, but somehow they hadn't aligned themselves properly first. Ginny looked positively horrified at her blunder.

Sydney flexed and curled her maimed hand experimentally. It didn't hurt, but it felt very strange. Several fingers bent at strange angles and she wasn't able to create a satisfactory fist: her poor substitute would cause more damage to herself than her opponent if she found herself in another hand to hand fight.

"I am so sorry!" Ginny cried adamantly, hindered by her hand, which she'd stuffed partially in her mouth, apparently trying to suffer a little on Sydney's behalf.

"Can you fix this?" Sydney asked, her thoughts straying to her next task. With her right hand still out of commission she would have to wield a gun in her left. That hadn't been a source of concern until she realized that it was unlikely that her misshapen fingers would be able to reach the trigger without contorting her hand in a way that would be detrimental to her aim.

Ginny's gaze dropped as she shook her head. She wouldn't have suggested a solution even if she knew of one that didn't involve re-braking all of Sydney's fractures, setting them by hand, then mending them again, not after that dismal display of her magical ability. She couldn't understand what had gone wrong; even without practice, she was usually capable of great feats of skill and tended to be among the first in her classes to master any new spell. Her inability to perform this one correctly was a matter of personal shame.

"What about my wrist?" Sydney pressed.

"I don't want to risk it," Ginny moaned desperately. "I could splint it though."

Sydney had half a mind to argue that mending the bones would be far more helpful to her under the circumstances even if the job wasn't done quite right, but she could see that Ginny was not to be swayed: all the enthusiasm for trying the new spell seemed to have gone out of her.

As it transpired, magical splints bore little resemblance to Muggle casts. Once the binding was applied the pain almost disappeared and she regained some mobility in her fingers, though they still felt numb and weak. Even so, Sydney knew that this hand as well would be of little use in a firefight and none in hand to hand combat.

Ginny glanced with some remorse in the direction she was supposed to travel for part of the mission, fiddling absently with the strap of the book bag she was wearing, then said, "Will you need help completing your task?"

It was a generous offer and one with many subtle implications, the foremost of which was that Ginny was willing to face whatever punishment or disappointment would ensue from not completing her own tasks to ensure that Sydney was not blamed for an inability to complete her own. Also inherent was a sense of responsibility that Sydney rarely observed in people Ginny's age. Conversely, this statement also spoke of Ginny's lack of familiarity with their overall strategy and her place in it, or else she would have known that at this point it was far more important that Ginny's tasks were carried out. In fact, Sydney had half a mind to accompany Ginny on her tasks instead. It was for this reason that Sydney had to refuse Ginny's offer.

A few seconds after they parted company a loud whistling reached their ears and both put on an extra burst of speed.

-------------------------

There was a series of strange sounds, like something very far away suddenly exploding.

"What's wrong, Michael?" Hermione asked, discerning the most likely source of the phenomenon and turning away from the wall she'd been magically strengthening to contain the trapped Death Eaters. She was right too, there were now several bullet holes barely visible in the far wall.

"Death Eater," Michael grunted. "He saw us."

"Did you get him?" Ron asked.

"He got away," Michael admitted.

"We can't let him tell the others that we're here," Hermione said.

"I'll go," Ron and Michael said simultaneously.

They took off, Michael leading the way. Fortunately, for some distance there was only one direction the Death Eater could have gone, especially if he wanted to report his discovery with any sort of speed. Their luck even held, just before they reached an intersection of two hallways a trail of blood appeared on the ground betraying the Death Eater's route.

"I must have winged him," Michael said. He sounded happy about it.

The clear trail and the knowledge that their prey must be becoming weaker after losing so much blood sped the pursuers forward. Before long they were close enough to catch glimpses of a robe disappearing around the next corner. When the hallways finally opened up into the grand staircase and entrance hall they thought they'd have no trouble getting a clear shot at the Death Eater, but the room was apparently empty.

"What?" Michael exclaimed, bending over to examine the blood trail.

Ron, however, was a bit faster in figuring out who they'd been pursuing and what happened to him and pulled out his wand.

"Accio Scabbers!"

It was generally unwise to summon sentient beings, but luckily, the spell worked as he'd hoped and a large screaming rat came flying toward Ron. Ron managed to catch the rat, then, with some effort, changed his grip so he was holding him by the scruff of the neck, so that the claws and teeth were no longer a threat.

"Is that…?" Michael breathed.

"Yeah," Ron muttered with disgust. "This is Pettigrew."

When Ron made no move, Michael pointed out, "We have to do something about him."

"Right," Ron said with a start.

He raised his wand, prompting Wormtail to start squirming and fighting with renewed vigor, but for the moment he didn't use it. It would have been so easy to end it all right then, he wouldn't even need his wand; he could break Pettigrew's neck with his bare hands. Ron nearly did it too: three times he changed his grip on the rat then changed it back without doing anything. No matter how he looked at it, no matter what Pettigrew had done, Ron couldn't justify killing him while he was completely defenseless.

"Listen carefully," Ron ordered, rotating the rat so that their noses were inches apart. "I am going to put you down, then you are going to transform and we will have a fair duel…"

"Ron," Michael interrupted, looking worried. Apparently he didn't consider murder below him when the situation called for it.

"I can handle him," Ron replied, then turned back to Pettigrew. "In exchange I'll make sure he doesn't kill you right now. Do we have an agreement?"

Pettigrew merely stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. Holding his wand ready, Ron dropped Wormtail, knowing it was a low blow but hoping a fall from such a lofty height might stun him. The rat's legs gave way and he landed on his stomach instead, but he regained his footing quickly and took off for the nearest cover. However, in his haste, he scurried in front of Michael, who, in a miraculous feat of good timing, stomped directly on Pettigrew's tail. The rat squealed in pain as he was forced to stop.

Michael cocked his gun and pointed it at Wormtail's head, but before he could finish the job, Ron yelled, "Stop! He has to answer for what he's done."

"He's about to," Michael replied, tightening his hand around the gun.

"I meant that he has to be able to speak in his own defense," Ron clarified.

"Would it change what you're going to do to him if he does?" Michael asked.

"I guess not," Ron admitted.

"Then why bother?" Michael continued. "You don't need to risk it with a duel. Besides, you remember what happened last time you tried to duel a Death Eater."

Michael didn't realize exactly how tactless his comment was until a second after he finished saying it when he found Ron looking at him like he was about to force him to let Pettigrew up just to prove he could handle himself in a duel.

Instead, Ron dropped his gaze sheepishly and said, 'I'd like to say something to him first."

"Go ahead," Michael replied.

"Peter Pettigrew," Ron started, "you betrayed Harry's parents to You-know-who and let Sirius Black go to Azkaban for your crimes. You used my family's trust. You nearly ended my friendship with Hermione. You helped Voldemort return to power. You killed Professor Lupin. You withheld food from Michael and me when we were starving. If you can think of a reason why we should spare your pathetic life that isn't the drivel I've already heard, then say it now."

Wormtail looked for a moment as though he might take Ron up on his offer, but then he changed his mind and remained resolutely on the ground, staring up at Ron as though daring him to kill the rat lying before him. It was immediately clear why Pettigrew chose this technique, Ron didn't want to kill this rat now any more than he did before, that had been the purpose for declaring a duel, after all.

"Do you want me to do this?" Michael asked, sensing Ron's reluctance.

"Just give me a minute," Ron replied shakily.

Ron was sorely tempted to stun Pettigrew, tie him up and send him to Azkaban, but even as he considered this he knew it was impossible. Pettigrew had shown a talent for escaping from inescapable places, including Azkaban. He couldn't count on the prison being able to contain him this time any more than it had last time. Pettigrew would only stop spreading misery when he was dead.

Michael seemed eager to finish the job and move on, and Ron couldn't explain why he didn't want to let him. It just seemed fitting that Pettigrew should die at the hands of someone he'd betrayed, and he was one of the few people still living who fit that description.

Ron took a deep breath and nodded to Michael, who released Pettigrew's tail, then Ron flicked his wand. He'd intended to sever Wormtail's jugular vein, but somehow that wasn't what happened. Instead a mass of ropes snaked out of his wand and tied themselves around the rat, but he wasn't a rat anymore. The trouble was he wasn't quite a man either.

As soon as Michael had released him Pettigrew had begun to resume his usual form, apparently hoping to traumatize Ron by forcing him to kill a man instead of a rat, but when Ron's ropes reached him he hadn't yet regained his full size, and the ropes didn't stretch.

"No!" Ron yelped, rushing forward to the choking and squirming mass.

The ropes were cutting deep into Pettigrew's skin and his face was already turning an unhealthy blue. Ron tried undoing the spell, but there were several incantations that led to the same result and each had a specific counter charm. Since he hadn't intended to use that spell he didn't know which one had been employed and in his desperation most of the remedies escaped him. He tried vanishing the ropes, but it was no use. Cutting and burning through them proved ineffective as well. As Pettigrew lost consciousness from lack of oxygen Ron tried to work even more quickly, but a few seconds later Michael came up behind him and pulled him away.

"Isn't this what you meant to happen?" Michael asked.

"No," Ron cried. "I mean, I was trying to kill him, but…"

He couldn't finish his statement, he couldn't believe what he had tried to do to Pettigrew. No matter what his crimes, Ron wasn't supposed to decide his fate.

"That's not what I was trying to do," Ron said.

"What's the difference?" Michael asked. "No matter what you do, he's going to die."

"How can you say that?" Ron demanded. "You think he deserves this?"

"Think of what you said to him before this happened," Michael pointed out. "This man is a traitor."

Ron tried to put his wand away but kept missing his pocket because his hand was shaking so badly. It seemed as though this moment marked a division in his life and that he would forever think of things as occurring either before or after he had killed a man.

They heard the footsteps of someone approaching and Michael whirled around, gun out. Ron, on the other hand, couldn't bring himself to face whatever new threat was upon them just yet.

As it turned out, their caution was unwarranted, for it was Hermione who rounded the corner.

"Death Eaters all sorted out then?" Michael asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep his tone light.

"Yeah," Hermione replied. "You?"

"Pettigrew's dead," Ron said, finally turning around. A second later he dry retched.

Hermione had already deduced that upon entering the room and seeing the body, but several new details became clear to her upon Ron's statement. "Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed, "You can't blame yourself for this, you did what you had to do."

"No I didn't," Ron moaned, looking around desperately without actually focusing on anything. "He didn't have to die, he was defenseless."

Suddenly, Ron dropped to his knees at Pettigrew's side and hefted his wand. He had finally come up with the spell needed to release the ropes and performed it, then healed the bruises. He was in the process of figuring out how best to start Pettigrew breathing again when Hermione pulled him away from the scene, crying, "Don't do this to yourself!"

"I might still be able to save him," Ron said, trying to get back to Pettigrew's body. "That wasn't how it was supposed to happen!"

"When have things ever worked out the way they're supposed to," Hermione replied. "It's over. You can't change what happened. You know what kind of man he was, he deserved what he got, even if the Ministry doesn't agree."

Ron quailed. Retribution from the Ministry hadn't occurred to him. "I murdered him! That's worth life in Azkaban!"

"This is a battle zone, they'll make an exception," Hermione pointed out, but Ron looked around skeptically, noting the distinct lack of anything resembling a battle zone in this room. Seeing this, Hermione added, "I've been thinking about it. The only way all the Death Eaters could have escaped from Azkaban is if Pettigrew helped them from the inside, what with his Animagus abilities and his silver hand. Either the Ministry's realized this as well or I'll make them. They might not agree with what you did, but they will thank you for it."

Ron didn't answer, but he looked relieved, so Hermione said, "I need to keep going, but if you want to stay behind you'll have to hide somewhere, the entire building should be sealed by now."

"We'll come," Ron volunteered, looking eager for the chance to occupy himself somehow.

"Alright," Hermione said, leading them up the stairs to the second floor. "We've got to hurry. There's going to be a signal soon. After you see it, close your eyes and cover your ears for thirty seconds."

"Why?" Ron asked.

"It's too hard to explain right now," Hermione replied evasively.

"What kind of signal?" Michael pressed.

"Well…actually…" Hermione stammered.

"You don't know?" Ron demanded.

"Well, the people working on it have to use whatever happens to be at hand," Hermione mumbled.

"Whose job is it, at least," Ron asked.

"Well, we needed people who could work on a similar timing even if they aren't in contact," Hermione explained. "So…"

"Fred and George," Ron finished.

"Fred and George," Hermione confirmed.

"Well at least it'll be obvious," Ron muttered.

-------------------------

Author's Note: Sorry about the cliffhanger. I usually try not to leave people hanging quite this much, but the entire battle was too long to put in one chapter. Check back next week for the rest of the fight.


	24. If You've Got Enough Nerve

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, stamps, pillow cases, and recipes are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, chapter 29, page 655 of the hardback American edition.

In response to potter-me-'s review last chapter about Ron killing Pettigrew, I suppose it is possible for Harry to kill Pettigrew in canon, but I always thought it would be poetic justice for Lupin or Ron to do it. If you recall, in my story Lupin's chance didn't work out so well for him, which left it up to Ron. Thanks for the review.

**Chapter 24: If You've Got Enough Nerve**

"Jolly good of them to invite us along this time," Fred quipped with an air of cordiality that masked his true feelings about being shut out of the resistance movement until that point.

"At least they gave us a job that suits our unique talents," George replied.

This, at least, was true. After Sydney dismantled the defenses and wards around Malfoy Manor they'd deposited themselves on the top floor and started dispatching all the Death Eaters they could find, which as it transpired, wasn't very many.

"Bad form, sir," Fred exclaimed as a curse hit him in the back but bounced off the personal shield created by his hat and rebounded on its creator, "attacking a man from behind."

"Tsk, tsk," George chided as he wrapped the Death Eater head to toe in ropes and tossed him unceremoniously in a nearby broom closet.

These hats served a double purpose. Not only did they make the twins invulnerable to most spells and curses, but, since they resembled nothing so much as flamingoes, it typically gave them an extra second to react because the Death Eaters were so shocked at their appearance.

"Have you given any thought to this signal we're supposed to be giving?" George asked.

"I brought those smoke pellets," Fred replied.

"Nah, too subtle," George pointed out.

"Right you are," Fred admitted. "How about we blow something up? We could limit it to the middle of the building; finish all of this right now."

"I can see the headline now," George said. "Massive explosion in Malfoy Manor, twenty five Death Eaters, eight Order members and Harry Potter die in the blast."

"Oh yeah," Fred sighed, then he brightened up. "'In related news: sales at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes soar.'"

They spent a moment in quiet though, gazing around for inspiration. Simultaneously, they looked at each other and exclaimed, "Fireworks!"

"The after party will be a drag without these," Fred muttered as he pulled a box of fireworks out of his pack and gave half to George.

"We can pick up some more later," George pointed out.

"True," Fred admitted. "We ready then?"

"Let's go," George replied.

They set out in opposite directions, reeling out a long, tan string between them. When Fred reached his destination, he took the string and separated two smaller strings at the end, then stuck one in his ear and held the other up to his mouth so the device vaguely resembled a telephone, and said, "You there yet?"

"Ouch!" George exclaimed in reply. "Don't talk so loud!"

"Sorry," Fred said, dropping the mouthpiece so it hung at about the level of his chest. "So, this is the new version. You might have told me."

"I thought you knew," George moaned.

"Are you there or not?" Fred demanded.

"I'm ready," George replied.

Fred pulled out his wand and put a small hole in the floor and into the room below, then pulled out a long white string, one end of which burrowed its way through the hole. Fred lifted the other end and gazed into it. His field of vision was immediately filled with a blurry and blue shifted view of the room beneath him.

"These extendable eyes need work, you know," George said through the double ended extendable ears, echoing Fred's thoughts.

"I said that they would be helpful in here, not that they were ready to go on the sales floor," Fred replied.

For the next few minutes Fred sent his extendable eye scurrying around rooms and under doors.

"How many Death Eaters have you seen so far?" George asked.

"About five, but one might have been a suit of armor," Fred said. "Why?"

"Because that brings the total number we've seen up to nine," George answered. "So either Hermione's distraction worked better than she thought it would or they're all hiding somewhere."

"We'll find them," Fred assured him.

"I've got Tonks," George exclaimed suddenly, "at least, I'm pretty sure that's her, I don't think a real Death Eater would do that."

"There's Ginny," Fred added, sounding relieved. "She looks ready."

"So does Tonks," George replied. "We're running out of time. Any sign of Malfoy?"

"Not yet," Fred replied, urging his extendable eye on to greater speeds. "Have you seen Ron and Michael?"

"No," George said, "but they'll only be stunned anyway. Listen, if we don't find Malfoy soon we'll have to go ahead with it anyway, Harry's going to get here any minute."

"I've got him!" Fred exclaimed suddenly, prompting George to cry out in pain again at the noise level. "He's holed up with at least ten Death Eaters, let's go!"

Fred and George yanked out their extendable eyes and ears and lit their fireworks, which they released through the holes into the second floor and out the doors into the third. The fireworks distributed themselves with alarming speed. Soon it seemed that everywhere in the building had been visited by at least a few sparks. Everywhere Death Eaters stopped what they were doing and looked at them, confused, and everywhere members of the Order threw themselves to the ground, squeezing their eyes shut and stuffing their fingers in their ears.

---------------------------

When everything started, Ginny had been confident in her ability to accomplish her task, but her botched attempt at healing Sydney's hand had robed her of that. This was compounded by the fact that her task involved a piece of Muggle technology. Ginny had only the vaguest idea of how to make it work, and even Hermione hadn't known whether or not it would malfunction inside of Malfoy Manor nor what to do if it did.

As soon as she reached her destination, Ginny cast sonorous on the device, amplifying its sound so it would resonate throughout the mansion. Less than a minute later, a firework sped past the door, causing several sparks to slip through the cracks. She pressed a button on the device and a few seconds later the most horrible, piercing, grating sound imaginable was emitted from it and into the building. By that time Ginny was already on the floor, her hands in her ears and her eyes squeezed shut.

---------------------------

Tonks' initial task was supposed to be to incapacitate the first Death Eater she came across then hide him and take his place. However, she decided to modify this plan and took out all the Death Eaters she found, simply because she had trouble convincingly copying the features of men, especially recently. Her plan was thwarted, however, by the apparent lack of women among the ranks of the Death Eaters. When she decided that she could wait no longer she assumed the appearance of the last Death Eater she'd captured and continued on her way.

Thus, Tonks was a bit more nervous and uncomfortable than she would have liked when she slunk into a small room near the edge of the second floor, looking for all the world like she had some important and legitimate business in there.

This wasn't so far from the truth. As soon as the door was closed, Tonks pulled a chair underneath the overhead light and stood on it. Fortunately, the light, being powered by magic, was cool to the touch, and she freed the fixture from the wall and pulled it down without much trouble. Then Tonks pulled a handful of ingenious little devices of Hermione and Sydney's creation out of her pocket and, transferring the light to her elbow, activated them with a flick of her wand. Immediately, they flew up like a swarm of insects and disappeared into the hole in the ceiling left by the light fixture, all except one, which attached itself to the light Tonks was holding. Satisfied that this meant the rest of them would do their jobs, Tonks replaced the light and jumped down off the chair. She turned around just in time to see a group of sparks soar underneath the door. A few seconds later, the horrible sound Ginny had set off filled her ears and Tonks flicked her wand again then threw herself into the same position as the rest of the Order, hands over ears and eyes squeezed shut. Above her she felt rather than saw the light flickering rapidly.

---------------------------

When the light and noise subsided, Fred and George stood up and began sorting out their tools again.

"What was that?" George asked through the extendable ear.

"When Hermione explained it, she said that the flashing light does something to people's brains and knocks them out," Fred replied. "Something Sydney's used before."

"Hermione didn't know what she was talking about did she," George said.

"Not a clue," Fred agreed, sending his extendable eye back down the hole. "It seemed to work, at least." All the Death Eaters he could see were lying on the floor or slumped over furniture.

"Blimey! That Harry is fast!" George exclaimed. "He's already got the fireplace blown up. I don't even know where he is anymore."

"I found Ginny," Fred added, looking at his finger with an expression of mild interest. "Can you think of a good use for earwax?"

"None that Bertie Bott hasn't already done," George replied after a moment of careful thought.

"I managed to get a good amount here," Fred explained. "It'd be a pity to let it go to waste."

"Why don't you figure out how to save it, then you can experiment on it later," George replied, allowing an air of disgust to filter into his voice.

"I think I will," Fred said.

"There's Hermione," George sighed, "and…how the bloody hell did they do that?"

"Do what?" Fred demanded, accidentally allowing his extendable eye to quest in George's direction in his curiosity.

"Ron and someone who I assume is Michael are with her!" George exclaimed.

"I thought they were captured," Fred said.

"They were," George confirmed.

"Well, apparently these Death Eaters didn't do a very good job of it," Fred laughed.

As the extendable eye progressed into the next room, Fred watched as Mundungus Fletcher and Sturgis Podmore came in and began tying up the unconscious Death Eaters.

"Wow! Mum, where'd you learn that!" George exclaimed suddenly.

"What'd she do?" Fred demanded.

"A really neat spell!" George replied. "'Course it would have been more impressive if her victim was awake and fighting back, but…"

"Remember to make her teach it to us later," Fred suggested.

They lapsed into silence, only raising the occasional praise at a particularly good bit of spell work until Fred suddenly moaned, "Oh, no."

George, who'd been about to report that he'd found Tonks alive, well, and much easier to spot now that she'd resumed her usual appearance, thought better of it and said instead, "What's wrong?"

"You remember that room with Malfoy and the ten Death Eaters?" Fred asked. "Well they're awake and some of the Death Eaters are missing."

"How can that be?" George exclaimed. "The light show can't have worn off, none of the other Death Eaters are awake."

"Maybe they never got the light show," Fred suggested. "That room could be some sort of bunker. The noise was never supposed to knock them out, just annoy them."

"Can we shut the rest of them in there?" George asked.

"Not unless there's a way to tell someone what happened," Fred replied. Most of the trinkets they'd brought along were only meant to be deployed at close distance.

"From the looks of things it will take awhile before anyone makes it over there," George said. "In the meantime they'll be able to set up an ambush."

"This lot really has no respect for the rules of engagement," Fred said, taking a pouting air.

"And we're better?" George laughed, "knocking them out with lights."

"We used our heads, they're just…being mean," Fred replied, failing to determine a suitably heinous crime in time.

"Excellent point," George said, regardless of the weakness in Fred's thesis.

"So they're plotting an ambush, we're the only ones who know about it, and we can't tell the people who could do something about it," Fred said, counting on his fingers.

"Sounds about right," George confirmed.

"So why don't we go foil their little plan," Fred suggested.

"I was hoping you'd say that," George beamed.

"Shall we then?"

"We shall."

---------------------------

Harry spent what had to be two of the most agonizing hours of his life pacing around the Weasley's living room. His route typically took him from the fireplace to the backdoor to the enchanted clock, on which every hand except Percy's was pointed at mortal peril, then back to the fireplace. He'd typically look at each then scowl when he didn't see what he was looking for and move on.

For all the improvements the Ministry had made to itself after the fall of Voldemort, their procedure concerning portkeys was still wrapped tightly in red tape, unfortunately leaving them out of the question as a mode of transportation. Several times over those two hours, Harry vowed to lobby the appropriate officials to make an exception if the traveler in question could prove that he or she would save the world by reaching their desired destination. As it stood, the only form of transportation that could get him where he needed to be was the floo network. The original plan had called for Harry to floo from the Leaky Cauldron, but Fred and George had volunteered the Burrow instead, and Harry had accepted for its increased privacy. There would have been a few advantages to waiting in the Leaky Cauldron, though. For one, Harry felt like he could have done with a drink.

Finally, the mirror in the living room got fed up with him and yelled something about wearing a hole in the floor and combing his hair. Harry told it to mind its own business, but either it hadn't been enchanted with ears or it wouldn't listen to him.

Annoyed with the mirror's complaints, Harry stepped into the garden and took a calming breath of fresh air. When he spotted a gnome watching him from underneath a bush, he reached over and caught it by its ankle, spun it around a few times, and tossed it over the fence. When Harry turned around he discovered that many other gnomes that popped up to investigate and before he knew it he was engaged in a full scale degnoming.

As he tossed the only remaining occupants of the Burrow unceremoniously over the wall, Harry realized something that'd been bothering him since he arrived. Even though the Weasleys were the closest he came to having a proper family and they welcomed him as one of their own, he still felt like nothing more than a glorified guest in their home, a notion that was mostly self imposed. Thus, it felt somehow impolite to be there without a member of the Weasley clan present. Furthermore, all of the times he'd come to visit, the Burrow had been positively filled with people, crowded, perhaps, but welcoming and exciting as well. To be in the place when it was so thoroughly deserted and quiet was a little disturbing.

Harry spotted something in the distance. As it approached he could tell that it was silver in color and so bright that whatever it was passing looked pathetically dull by contrast. The furthest gnomes were pausing to stare now, even those that were still dizzy and confused. Harry was fairly certain that he knew what it was, but pulled out his wand just in case.

As the figure finally got close enough for Harry to see its form properly his heart gave a strange sort of dive, leaping higher at first then settling somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. It was an otter, Hermione's patronus, the signal she'd agreed to send when the Order was about to enter Malfoy Manor.

Shakily, Harry noted the time, then stepped back inside. The mirror started to protest again, but restrained itself when Harry dropped weakly onto the nearest sofa.

He could hardly stand that once again members of the Order were risking their lives to give him any small advantage. Even worse was the fact that, this time, they didn't have to. There was no prophecy claiming that only Harry could defeat Malfoy, nor any other reason to believe such a thing was true. In fact, it probably would have been a better idea to have someone who was actually in the Order, one of the Aurors, perhaps, complete this leg of the mission, or at least someone who didn't have his past come back to haunt him at random intervals.

The only reason he'd taken this task was because he couldn't in good conscience give it to someone else. What's more, he couldn't let anyone volunteer for it either, and Hermione, Fred, and George had all given it a good try. Harry couldn't let anyone else do this job because he'd been the one who came up with it during the planning with Hermione and Sydney, and because, unless a great many things went exactly right, it was likely to be a suicide mission. Harry had spent most of his life surrounded by people who were more than willing to sacrifice themselves for him, but he was now less than willing to let them.

Harry glanced at his watch and discovered that fifty minutes of the agreed hour had elapsed. He stood and walked to the fireplace, mentally going over his plan. It didn't take long: if everything went right he wouldn't have much to do, and if everything didn't go right he'd appear, dizzy and disoriented, in the middle of fifty Death Eaters, and he had no way of finding out which it would be until he got there.

With about thirty seconds to go, Harry lit a deceptively merry little flame in the fireplace, added a pinch of floo powder, and walked into it, shouting "Malfoy Manor!"

Harry extricated himself from the fireplace as quickly and gracefully as he could and stood, wand raised, prepared to stun anything that moved, knowing that if he happened to hit a member of the Order he could wake the person up and apologize later. However, the only other occupant of the room was a Death Eater, but he was slumped against a wall and clearly unconscious. Apparently Sydney's flashing lights had worked.

Unsure of how much time had passed since the light show had ended but knowing that the Death Eaters would only remain asleep for a limited amount of time, Harry quickly tied up the unconscious man and set about collapsing the fireplace. When he was satisfied that the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to use that method of escape anytime soon, Harry moved on.

He met no resistance in the next room, although he did have to duck under a firework. Only the urgency of the situation prevented him from pausing to ponder where it might have come from. Three rooms after that, the Death Eaters had begun to stir and he had to stun them again before disarming and binding them. He still hadn't seen any evidence of anyone in the Order. Granted that the entire purpose for his solitary mission was because of the charms or spells shielding the section the mansion where the most delicate of the Death Eaters' work was carried out, but surely they must have figured out how to break through them by now, unless, of course, Sydney's method of defense had worked too well and knocked the Order out as well.

All hope began to fail when Harry found himself in a hallway filled with disoriented but recovering Death Eaters. He received his first injury from a Death Eater who'd craftily feigned unconsciousness until Harry passed him by in favor of confronting those who looked like they would soon become an immediate threat. Harry gained the upper hand eventually, but not before he'd been hit with the leg-locker curse and gotten a cut stretching from his left elbow to his wrist. He performed the appropriate counter curse and conjured a wrapping around his arm then continued on.

The Death Eaters Harry encountered persisted in using similar non lethal spells on him. It was an advantage he'd observed the last time he'd gone up against Death Eaters. They seemed to want to take him captive and make an example of him rather than kill him outright. Of course, he was sure that if they ever got the best of him he would wish he was dead. That was certainly the case for the other times he'd been captured.

Thus, it was with the greatest of relief that Harry entered the next room and found its occupants already tied up and struggling fruitlessly against their bonds.

Harry encountered several more rooms such as these and cautiously began exploring alternate routes, hoping to find more Death Eaters that hadn't yet been caught.

Despite his indirect course, Harry was finally getting close to the very center of the second floor when he saw something that nearly made him cry out in fear and surprise.

---------------------------

"What do you suppose they did to that door?" Fred asked, his hand still tingling from when the doorknob had shocked him. He and George had just arrived in the inner section of the second floor and were tying up the waking Death Eaters as quickly as they could on their way to dismantle the ambush.

"I'm not sure," George admitted, as a firework careened into view. He raised his wand to extinguish it, then changed his mind and left it alone. "Maybe we could get one of these blokes to tell us. I'm sure our customers would love some sort of safe that can't be broken into."

"Whoever did that must have thought he was pretty clever," Fred muttered. His shocked hand had started shaking annoyingly.

"Not clever enough to figure on someone cutting through the wall," George reminded him.

"True," Fred laughed. "You know, from what I've seen, these Death Eaters aren't nearly as smart as they think they are."

"I know!" George exclaimed. "They spend their entire existence promoting purebloods and terrorizing Muggle-borns, then, of all things, it works out to be Muggle technology that takes them all out in one-"

It was as though they'd just stepped in traps. One second they were walking normally and the next their wands had been yanked from their hands and they were dangling in midair by their ankles. Five sneering Death Eaters appeared a few seconds later.

Fred and George took one look at each other and burst out laughing, as though suddenly finding themselves hanging upside down and surrounded by Death Eaters was the funniest joke they'd heard in years, although it could have had something to do with the fact that gravity had pulled their robes inside out over their heads, leaving their underwear in plain view.

"That your lucky pair?" Fred asked as soon as he'd recovered, eying his brother's zebra striped boxers

"Sure is," George replied happily. "You?"

"Yep," Fred said, twisting around to try and direct himself to whichever Death Eater looked like he was in charge of their operation. "Excellent show. Really top notch."

"It took you much less time to fall for our little trick than we thought," George added. He, of course, meant nothing of the sort, but keeping the opponent off balance always seemed to help when they were faced with Filch or other such figures who liked to get them in trouble, and George couldn't think of a reason why the same tactic shouldn't work on Death Eaters as well.

Fred nodded adamantly and a few looks of panic passed between the Death Eaters.

---------------------------

Harry could scarcely believe his eyes when two Death Eaters detached themselves from the group and left down a perpendicular hallway from his own, apparently to see if any counter ambushes had actually been set up while they were distracted.

When Harry had arrived at the scene a few minutes earlier he'd thought that Fred and George would be dead before they could stop laughing, now the Death Eaters were practically manageable.

He made a mental note to spend more time with Fred and George if they all made it out of this, for it seemed that there was a great deal he could learn from them. He slipped out of his meager hiding place and magically stunned and bound the leader of the Death Eaters. However, he didn't have clear shot at the rest of them with Fred and George in the way. Instead, Harry rushed forward, thinking the counter curse to the twin's condition and summoning their wands. They fell painfully to the floor but recovered quickly as Harry handed over their wands and the three of them formed a tight line facing the Death Eaters.

Together they made short work of their two remaining opponents, but their victory was cut off by the return of the two Death Eaters who had gone exploring, accompanied by several more. Harry couldn't explain where they'd come from and assumed that someone had missed a group and left them untied. However, when more Death Eaters arrived a few seconds later it seemed that the situation had deteriorated much more rapidly than any one of them had anticipated, and no amount of wit would save them now.

Fred and George merely shrugged and began sending out a positive whirlwind of spells, which Harry, though feeling a bit more dubious about the situation, copied. The twins took turns pausing to pull some random trinket out of a pocket and throw it on the ground, at which point it would start spewing out fog or sparks or else launch itself at whatever enemy happened to be closest. This reminded Harry suddenly of the artifacts he'd found in his parent's workshop and he sacrificed one hand and some attention to digging through his pockets. He found the tripping rope and tossed it at the closest Death Eater, who promptly dropped to the floor, then the seeking device, which traveled about making a nuisance of itself. The last item he came up with was a bit of a disappointment: the compass rock was a valuable tool, but not good for much in a fight. Desperate for any advantage he could find, Harry thought of Lucius Malfoy, hoping the rock would reveal him to be one of the Death Eaters currently assailing them, simply in disguise, or, even better, dead. However, the rock chose instead to point behind him down the hallway that led to the very center of the building.

"We need to go that way," Harry called, indicating the direction with his head.

"Why?" George asked.

"Malfoy is down there," Harry replied.

They didn't bother asking how he'd come to know that, but they didn't move either. Instead, Fred said, "You go, we'll hold them off."

"But!" Harry tried to protest. He didn't want to leave them until help came, for it seemed that for every Death Eater they took down another one took his place. Harry still couldn't explain where they were coming from.

"Don't make us force you down there," George threatened as they crowded him out of their line so he had no choice but to go down the hallway. Seeing that they were not to by swayed, Harry wished the twins luck and turned to go.

This corridor was a dead end, ending in a single room which not even Dobby had known the function of, thus making it the most obvious location for the true central command for the Death Eaters.

Harry cracked the door open and stunned the Death Eater standing there in one slick movement, then stepped inside and found himself face to face with another opponent. In a brief but violent struggle, Harry managed to best his enemy with a series of well placed hexes and sent him sprawling next to his companion, at which point Harry stunned him as well and bound both men together.

He spun around when he heard someone clapping slowly behind him. Lucius Malfoy was watching from atop a chair perched upon a raised platform. It resembled nothing so much as a throne.

"Well done," Malfoy said loftily.

"Surrender now and you won't be harmed," Harry said.

"I wondered whether I'd be seeing you here, Mr. Potter," Malfoy continued as though he hadn't heard Harry's ultimatum.

"I'm sure you've deduced that to make it here I would have to incapacitate most of the other Death Eaters," Harry tried. "You have no help coming."

"You always have been sort of the odd case, haven't you, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "So eager to sacrifice yourself. Honorable, but foolish."

"On the other hand, the Order will be along any moment," Harry said. He was finding it difficult to maintain his train of thought in this strange, dual conversation. "Surrender now and you won't be hurt," he repeated.

"But right now it's just you and me," Malfoy pointed out, acknowledging that Harry had spoken for the first time. "What if it came to a duel?"

"I've dueled with Voldemort and won," Harry retorted. "You would be no trouble."

Malfoy fought down an angry outburst when Harry referred to Voldemort by name and said instead, "Don't delude yourself, you are a master of luck, nothing more, and I'm very curious to know where your salvation might come from this time, and where it came from in that fight against the Dark Lord."

"_We don't have to do this! If we both just walk away right now neither of us would have to die. We could agree never to see each other again. This doesn't have to happen," Harry cried adamantly. He suspected his plea might have been more convincing if he wasn't holding up the wand, but he wasn't about to let down his guard for a moment while in Voldemort's presence._

"_The Seer said, 'Neither may live while the other survives,'" Voldemort hissed apparently under the impression that Harry was trying to trick him. "Seers can't lie while in a trance."_

"_But they can't See everything either," Harry replied. "That Seer saw one possibility out of trillions of futures. We still have a choice."_

"_You have proven yourself to be a threat to me," Voldemort said. "I cannot allow you to live."_

_Harry's hand tightened around the foreign wand._

Harry started out of his memory, shaking his head to clear away the vision then looked up at Malfoy as though nothing had happened and said, "I didn't have any help in that fight."

"Do you take me for a fool?" Malfoy sneered. "I was there when you dueled the Dark Lord in the graveyard; I know your wands wouldn't function against each other. You bested the Dark Lord in another match of wills and you expect me to believe that it wasn't luck."

"I didn't use my wand," Harry replied. "It was someone else's."

Harry was happy to see an expression of fear commandeer Malfoy's face upon hearing that Harry had defeated Voldemort despite using a wand that he wasn't entirely compatible with, but he managed to recover quickly enough. "You know, Potter, judging by the look of you, if I didn't know any better I'd say you'd lost your nerve."

Harry didn't know if his flashback had cost him a second or an hour, but if Malfoy's look now was anything to go by then he must have noticed the lapse. "I suppose the fact that I helped take down most of your Death Eaters factored into that opinion," Harry replied, mustering as much wit as he could.

"Yes," Malfoy said thoughtfully, looking vacant. "I much prefer that cheeky little brat I met in your second year. He had potential."

"Potential to do what?" Harry laughed. "Join the Death Eaters? Not likely."

"Potential to do something," Malfoy replied. "I'll bet you don't even want to fight me. You're a shadow of your former self."

"You made me who I am!" Harry exclaimed. "You and Voldemort and the other Death Eaters and that stupid prophecy. Why don't you try fighting for your life from the age of one, then we'll see how much potential you've got!"

"Fascinating," Malfoy said quietly, as though Harry was an especially interesting, but brainless, specimen in some grand experiment.

"I'm sure," Harry muttered, unsure of how much longer he would be able to stand Malfoy's demeaning manner.

However, at that moment, Malfoy's attitude mercifully changed and he stood up and stepped down from his throne, saying, "I believe it's clear by now that your precious Order will not be coming soon, and I have no intention of surrendering. Shall we get this over with?"

As Malfoy bowed and Harry numbly mirrored the movement, unable to help but note how strange it seemed to begin in a fight of this magnitude with a statement like that. Stranger still was the fact that Malfoy insisted that they stand on ceremony. In the heat of battle, not even Voldemort had done that. Then Harry realized that he should have tried to avoid thinking about Voldemort.

_The two figures circled each other, neither knowing from whom the first strike would emanate, but in a fight such as this, one well placed spell might be all it would take._

"One…two…"

_Voldemort struck suddenly. Harry couldn't tell what the spell was, but he hoped a personal shield spell would be enough to stop it._

The curse bounced harmlessly off Harry's charm. He'd been ready for such a tactic, having encountered it before. Apparently, Draco had learned from Lucius that counting to three to start a wizard's duel was important, but actually waiting for the count of three was not.

Harry recovered and sent a disarming spell back toward Malfoy, but it _met in midair with one of Voldemort's and both ricocheted off each other and hit the walls instead._

"_You got a new wand," Voldemort hissed. His inflection was impossible to read, so Harry couldn't tell if his opponent was bolstered or intimidated._

"_Yeah, well, you took mine," Harry replied cheekily. "This one's on loan."_

The battle continued on this way for some time. Both competitors were evenly matched, despite Harry's increasing desperation to gain an upper had _over Voldemort, who was rapidly pressing the advantage of his superior knowledge in magic, almost as though he was toying with Harry. All the research on powerful spells he'd done over the past year, all the practice, it couldn't have been more useless now that he was face to face with Voldemort._

_Inevitably, one of Voldemort's spells broke through, and, to Harry's utter misfortune, it happened to the Cruciatus curse. Feeling as though every nerve in his body had suddenly caught fire, Harry dropped to his knees then slumped to the ground, writhing in pain. He couldn't fight back while the spell was on him, he could barely even think, but maybe he deserved this. Maybe this was some of how Ron was feeling. Then Harry found something to focus on, something he couldn't let go of if he tried. He had to get back there. Then, suddenly, the pain was gone. Shaking slightly, Harry got back to his feet and raised his wand again._

Finally, the stalemate ended when Harry sent a quick succession of spells at Malfoy. The Death Eater couldn't block them all and finally the full body bind broke through and hit him. Malfoy stiffened and fell backwards.

_Harry wasn't sure what made him do it, but he cast a hex and the charm to make objects bounce one right after the other. Somehow, the second one caught up with the first and they both careened pathetically off course. Harry thought all was lost, but the spells bounced off the wall and then another and another, then hit Voldemort in the back, covering his skin in disgusting flakes._

_Harry didn't know what to think, he'd never heard of spells acting on other spells like that, and judging by Voldemort's expression, he hadn't either. They both paused, awestruck, but Harry pulled himself together faster._

Malfoy thought the counter curse and unfroze himself before he even hit the floor, but wasn't quick enough to prevent himself from falling.

_Harry _pressed_ his _advantage_ to _its_ fullest _extent,_ casting _every_ spell _he_ could _think_ of _at _Voldemort_ Malfoy._ His _opponent _barely_ had _time_ to _acknowledge_ the _last_ barrage, _much_ less _prepare_ for the _next._

_Finally, Voldemort had been hit with so many curses and hexes that he could no longer fight back. He could barely even move. Harry stood over him, knowing what he had to do and hating every bit of it. Still, he took a moment to remember everything he had faced because of the man lying before him, all the people who had died and those who had lived in fear for years, and from this he summoned every ounce of hatred and revulsion he possessed. In that moment there was no doubt in his mind that he wanted Voldemort dead._

"Avada Kedavra!"

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

For a moment, all Harry could see was green, then the eerie light faded and he looked upon his victim, but even as he watched, the snakelike face from his memory melted away and was replaced by Lucius Malfoy. He was clearly dead.

Harry's wand slipped out of his limp grasp as he stumbled away, horrified. He'd never wanted to kill Malfoy, no matter what he'd said to Hermione and Sydney while they were planning this mission. Malfoy wasn't Voldemort, he was no great threat to society, at least not yet, and while Azkaban had shown a certain deficiency in being able to hold him, there was nothing to indicate that would always be the case. What's more, Harry had been reliving his memories of his last battle with Voldemort for at least half of the fight. For all he knew, Malfoy had attempted to surrender and Harry hadn't noticed. However, the very nature of the unforgivable curses demanded the complete backing of the caster, usurping any arguments that Harry hadn't meant it.

Unwillingly, Harry's thought strayed to Draco. Even if he was an adult and a git, Harry had just robbed him of his father, a condition Harry knew something about. He couldn't help feeling guilty.

Harry knew that no matter how bad he felt, nothing could bring back Malfoy nor change anything that had just happened, so he finished his silent lament and stood up shakily, retrieved his wand, and left the room, his sorrow quickly being replaced by curiosity about why the Order hadn't come to his aid as he'd expected.

The scene that met his eyes was one of utter desolation. Over a dozen Death Eaters were lying on the floor or slumped against the walls. Harry couldn't tell and didn't care if they were unconscious or dead, because in the center of it all, Mrs. Weasley was sobbing over the prone form of one of the twins.

Fred or George, whichever one wasn't currently unconscious on the floor, was shaking his brother's shoulder and laughing weakly despite the tears in his eyes and saying, "Come on, quit messing around, it's over, you can wake up now."

Mr. Weasley was hovering nearby, resembling nothing so much as Hagrid after Buckbeak lost his second appeal in Harry's third year; completely lost.

Harry approached slowly, afraid that imposing himself on the scene might somehow make it even worse. Other members of the Order were scattered around, generally keeping their distance. Hermione, Sydney, Ginny, and, to Harry's relief, Ron and Michael were among them. Most of them were looking at him as though waiting for some sort of news, so Harry said, "Malfoy's dead," gesturing weakly behind him.

There was an audible sigh of relief and a few tight smiles, but they faded quickly. Since no one seemed willing to volunteer any information about what had happened, Harry decided to search it out himself.

Knowing the situation, whatever it was, required the utmost respect and tact, Harry passed by Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all of whom look positively inconsolable, and made instead for Sydney and Michael.

"It's good to have you back, Michael," Harry whispered. When Michael nodded his thanks, Harry continued, gesturing to the scene behind him, "Is he going to be alright?"

A quick look passed between the Muggles, then Sydney sighed and said, "Fred's gone."

"How's that?" Harry asked uncomprehendingly. "He's right there."

"No," Sydney stammered, "I mean he's…"

"What!" Harry exclaimed, momentarily forgetting himself. He dropped his voice and continued, "Come on, it's Fred, he probably just ate a Fainting Fancy. George will have the antidote."

"Harry," Sydney whispered sternly, "do you really think that Fred would joke about something like this?"

He wasn't about to jump to conclusions, Fred joked about almost everything, but Harry turned to face the twin in question, and as he saw George give up trying to wake Fred and joined in crying with his Mother, all attempts to remember if Fred had ever expressed a desire to attend his own funeral vanished. Harry couldn't muster a response to Sydney's question so he shook his head.

"They were surrounded by Death Eaters," Michael said turning Harry back around. "We think somehow a Death Eater slipped by them and then started freeing the others. About half of them had been released by the time the rest of us made it through the barrier to stop them."

Harry believed Michael's explanation, but something didn't quite sit right about it. He knew that he had been very thorough in his search and Fred and George had probably been even more so, since they had the advantage of two sets of eyes.

It would have been far from impossible for a Death Eater to get by them, but it should have been much harder than Michael's explanation implied, especially after there was more than one Death Eater to hide.

Suddenly, exactly how a Death Eater had gotten through became painfully clear. It made Harry feel so sick that he nearly threw up, then he slumped against the wall and buried his head in his knees. He had let the Death Eaters through, and now the Weasleys were suffering the result of his negligence. When Fred and George had been captured by the Death Eaters and hanging upside down by their ankles, they'd managed to convince the group to send two of their members to go check for other members of the Order in the area, and Harry had let them go. He'd had the power to stop them, but he'd been so intent on the newfound opportunity to free the twins that he'd let the Death Eaters go! What's more, it never even occurred to him that the Death Eaters might happen upon their tied up companions and set them free. To top it all off, just when they could have used an extra hand in battle, Harry had left them to go fight Malfoy instead. Malfoy, who had no chance of escaping and was the only person in the entire Manor who wasn't causing any trouble.

This was the second time a member of the Weasley clan had put himself directly in the line of fire for Harry, and the second time Harry had repaid them by allowing the hero in question to endure increased suffering for his troubles, and the second time that Harry could have done something to prevent it but didn't.

Of all the times Harry had wished that for just a minute he could switch lives with someone, he'd never felt the desire as keenly as he did now. He could hardly stand to exist in his own body, to draw on his own memories. There could be no Fred and George with out Fred.

This had to be a dream, it just had to be. They happened so often now that it had to be possible. In a minute he'd wake up and the battle wouldn't have happened yet, or the Death Eaters wouldn't have escaped from Azkaban. Harry pointed his wand at his own chest and tried thinking one waking spell after another, but it didn't help.

"Ennervate!" Harry shouted.

Nothing happened.

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Author's Note: Alright, I suppose you all have your rotten tomatoes ready by now. All I can say is, go right ahead, I deserve it. Please know, though, that killing Fred was neither an arbitrary decision nor an easy one. I thought it was important for this battle to have a very real and devastating consequence, and Fred's death is important to the end of the story. One other thing, if it's not too much trouble, please mind your aim. I have a roommate and she won't be very pleased if I get tomato guts all over.


	25. There We Were All in One Place

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, tissue boxes, watercolors, and picture frames are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from "American Pie" by Don McLean.

**Chapter 25: There We Were All in One Place**

"Are you alright?" someone asked, shaking Harry's shoulder.

Harry looked up and discovered himself face to face with a teary eyed Ron, then looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with his friend for more than a few seconds, and said, "I should be the one asking you that, mate."

"Well, I'm not, I guess," Ron replied.

Harry was completely unsure of what to say. All he could think of was meaningless lines about how Fred was "in a better place," that he, Harry, was sorry, and that Ron would be alright again eventually. "Listen, it…I…um…I'm here…if you…you know…need anything," he finally stammered.

"Thanks," Ron agreed, a few fresh tears leaking down his cheeks. "Listen, Dad's invited you, Hermione, Sydney, and Michael back to the Burrow. The Ministry's going to…to take care of the Death Eaters, so we were just about to go."

Feeling like he ought to be chucked in Azkaban instead, Harry nevertheless nodded and pulled himself to his feet, supposing that this would at least give him a chance to explain how he was responsible for Fred's death. The Weasleys deserved that.

Harry looked around and found at least twenty Ministry officials identifying the Death Eaters and wrapping them in permanent restraints. A few others were busying themselves with Fred's body. As he watched numbly, a healer bustled forward and mended the wound on his arm with a flick of her wand.

Unable to look any longer, Harry turned and followed the others downstairs and outside, where a Ministry car was waiting. Harry wasn't sure if he was able to Apparate in his current state of mind, but by the time they reached the Burrow he wished he'd given it a try, the silence in the car was torture.

Before they had a chance to disappear to their respective bedrooms, or, in Ron and Michael's case, the kitchen, Harry apologized for his timing and asked if he could say something to them. The group convened in the living room, Ron and Michael had sandwiches in tow, and Harry took a deep breath and did something he had always avoided unless forced: retold his experience in Malfoy Manor that night, hoping to give the Weasley's as much information as he could about the circumstances surrounding Fred's death. He deliberately glossed over anything that would give Fred and George the blame for anything. Instead, he took all the guilt upon himself.

No one spoke for a full minute after Harry finished his monologue, and Harry finally said, "I should probably go, then."

Harry had no idea where he would go, but knew that the Weasleys had extended their hospitality under false pretences, and he wasn't about to impose himself on them.

However, Harry had only taken two steps towards the door when George suddenly stood up. At first Harry thought he was going to be reminded of what it was like to be a human punching bag, then George said, "Harry is giving himself too much credit." From there he went on to explain what he and Fred had done, including the fact that it had been his own suggestion that sent away the Death Eaters, they hadn't known that Harry was nearby at the time, and neither of them had considered that the wayward Death Eaters might find their restrained companions either.

Further admissions of guilt followed, Sydney for not stressing the importance of preventing the Death Eaters from finding each other, Hermione for not figuring out how to get past the barrier fast enough, Ron for making the mission necessary in the first place, and Ginny for being unable to heal Sydney's hands properly so she couldn't help.

"Alright," Mr. Weasley said, trying to sound jovial but failing miserably. "If we're all through blaming ourselves then I think we ought to get to bed. And Harry, you are forbidden from going anywhere except for up to Ron's room for some sleep."

Everyone made their way up the stairs, except George, who said, "We've…I've got stuff to do at the shop, see you lot later."

Harry, who had recently used a similar excuse himself, didn't believe George for a second and was about to say something about it, but Mr. Weasley beat him to it.

"I'd like you to stay here tonight, son."

However, George ignored him and turned to leave anyway. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley tried to restrain him, but that ended when he threatened to blast them away. He looked sufficiently close to the edge to do it.

Mr. Weasley looked over at Mrs. Weasley, who nodded slowly, then he Disapparated, clearly intending to follow George.

The rest of the group trudged up the stairs, separating themselves when they reached the appropriate level (Sydney and Michael were invited to take Fred and George's room), until only Ron and Harry were left. They reached Ron's attic room and negotiated their sleeping arrangement in silence. Harry's stomach was sinking with every passing second, for he'd realized there was something he'd forgotten to do. On top of everything else, Ron must be starving, Michael had devoured his sandwich within a minute of making it, but Ron's was still intact in his hand, as though he'd forgotten about it, or what he'd intended to do with it. Harry couldn't think of a worse time to bring this up, but he suspected that if he didn't do it now he'd never be able to do it again, and he'd made a promise.

"Ron?" Harry asked timidly.

"Yeah," Ron sniffed.

"Before all of this I was talking to Hermione, and she said she'd erased all her memory of the battle in Hogwarts against Voldemort," Harry said, trying to get it all out as quickly as possible.

"She wiped her memory?" Ron asked disbelievingly.

Harry nodded.

"Why?" Ron pressed. Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever seen his friend look so tired before

"She doesn't remember," Harry replied gently.

"I should go talk to her," Ron said, but then he tossed himself down on his bed.

"She's waited for four months," Harry replied consolingly, "another night won't hurt anything."

"Thanks," Ron mumbled into his pillow.

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The next morning Wizards everywhere woke to find themselves celebrating a victory they hadn't known they needed. The front page of the _Daily Prophet_ carried a detailed story about the previous night's escapade, leaving out nothing except the fact that Sydney and Michael were Muggles. Thus, all involved were asked to a number of parties that day, but they turned them all down until they were forcibly invited to a feast at Hogwarts by a fleet of letters that worked out to be portkeys.

It was a rather strange experience for everyone, especially Harry, Ron, Hermione, Michael, and Sydney, who had to make the dramatic transition from snacking on trail mix or slurping mush from a bowl to wondering which fork to use first. The group of heroes stood up and smiled when it was asked of them, but it was obvious that their hearts weren't really in it, a sentiment shared by the students, most of whom had been present when Fred and George made legends of themselves by letting off fireworks and a portable swamp, then left the school in open defiance of Professor Umbridge.

After the feast, the original group of five asked Professor McGonagall if they might stay on at Hogwarts for a time, since they felt that they had unfinished business there. Though they didn't want to say it, they were also hopeful for an excuse to keep clear of the Burrow. The Headmistress didn't take much convincing and invited them to live in the substitute teachers' quarters once more. When they trudged up there, they discovered that the trunks and bags that Harry and Hermione left in the Forbidden Forest had been retrieved, transfigured back into their original form, and arranged neatly outside the rooms, just like when they'd arrived at Hogwarts a month and a half ago.

Contrary to Ron's predictions, he was never called before the Ministry to answer for his role in the death of Peter Pettigrew. Instead, the day after the mission he received a short letter thanking him for putting an end to the wizard. Bemused, he showed it to Harry and Hermione, but neither ever saw it again, and Harry suspected that he might have thrown it in the fire.

Harry, on the other hand, did have to stand before the Ministry, but only long enough to refuse another first class Order of Merlin, and recommend that it be given to the Weasleys instead. He was dismissed before he had the chance to ask if they would take back his first one.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, once the only cheerful shop in all of Diagon Alley, was now the only sorrowful one. The items sold and decorations remained as exciting as ever, but the atmosphere was subdued as friends and frequent customers came to pay their respects to Fred.

Two days after Fred's death, shoppers found a large mirror lying smashed in front of the shop, looking suspiciously as though it had been dropped from a window in the loft above the shop where George lived. A few sympathetic passers by cleaned up the mess without asking any questions. The death of a sibling was difficult enough without seeing him alive and well whenever the survivor looked in a mirror.

That same morning, George released a new pranking device, the Wet Wonder, which would give whoever touched it directly the feeling that they had just fallen victim to an extremely messy wet willie by turning most of the subject's ear wax into water. It promised to be the first in an entire line of projects concerning ear wax.

--------------------

"When…um…when we were about five, Dad brought home a toy. It was this thin piece of metal, except for it was all coiled up, something that Muggles play with. Hermione tells me those are called slinkies, right?" George asked suddenly, turning to Hermione, who was sitting between Harry and Ron in the front row of the group of black robed mourners. She nodded tearfully.

"Slinkies," George confirmed before continuing on. "Anyway, what you do with a slinky is you put it at the top of a staircase and you tip if off and it walks down the stairs. The trouble with this slinky and the reason that Dad got a hold of it was that someone had enchanted it and it was confusing all the Muggles who saw it because when it got to the bottom of those stairs it would turn around and walk right back up them again. So, Dad caught up with this slinky, and he was supposed to destroy stuff like that, but he saw that there wasn't really anything sinister about it as long as Muggles didn't find it again so he brought it home and gave it to us.

"I didn't understand why, but Fred was absolutely fascinated by the thing, spent half the next day chasing it up and down the stairs. Eventually he got bored with that, though and decided that the slinky would be much more fun if it could walk other places than just the stairs, so he picks up the slinky, and sneaks into Bill's room. Bill was home from Hogwarts for the summer, so Fred nicks his wand, then brings them both back to our room, where he starts poking at the slinky with the wand.

"Even though he'd borrowed wands before, Fred didn't really know what the hell he was doing, but sure enough, a few minutes later that slinky tips itself over and starts walking all around the room. A few pokes later and it's figured out how to stick to the walls and ceiling and its walking all over those too, so Fred figures that's good enough and opens the door to see where it goes. So the slinky marches straight out the door and down the stairs, and we both follow it to the living room. It seems especially interested in the fireplace and I can see Fred itching to find out if he can send it someplace with Floo powder, but before he gets the chance Bill comes along looking positively terrified and asks if we've seen his wand, which is, of course, in Fred's pocket. If I hadn't known better, though, I would have thought that Fred didn't realize Bill owned a wand because he just gives him this blank look, makes some quip about how wands are supposed to vanish other things and not themselves, then suggests that he go get it back from Ron before it gets chewed in half. Bill apparently hadn't thought of that and he runs off and as soon as he's gone Fred passes me the wand and I go put it back in Bill's room. When I get back, Fred's lying on the floor on his back with his head in the fireplace and when I ask him what he's doing he points up into the chimney and says that the slinky's up there.

"After a minute it's obvious that the slinky is not going to come back down through the fireplace, we both run outside and manage to find it scaling the outside wall. Before long, it gets back to the ground and starts creeping through the grass like the world's strangest snake. By now Fred and I have realized that we have a problem because Ottery St. Catchpole is a Muggle place and the Burrow is outside of town, but not that far outside, and we know if we lose track of the slinky some Muggle's going to find it. So we start chasing it and it starts running, but what we didn't expect it to do was run up a tree. For about five seconds we thought we were set, because we could catch the slinky as soon as it tried to get back down the tree, but then it occurred to us that it could wait around much longer than we could. Now Fred knows that someone could come along at any second and ask us what we're doing and we couldn't very well say that we were waiting for a charmed slinky to come out of the tree and we couldn't let it get away, so he follow it up the tree and…"

George paused a second to shake off a bout of laughter.

"…and the next thing anyone knows the slinky's attacking him. It remains to this day one of the most ridiculous things I've ever seen. There Fred was, about a third of a way up the tree and completely tangled up in this slinky. It's got an arm and a leg pinned and Fred is trying to fight it off with his free arm, but all he really manages to do is knock himself off the branch. Fortunately, the slinky also looped itself around the branch, so Fred is just hanging there, almost upside down, still flailing around and trying to pull it off. Now this slinky, for all its ferocity, isn't very strong and after about thirty seconds of this it couldn't hold Fred up any longer so it drops him. We yank it down and start stomping on it and hitting it with rocks and anything else we can find until it's so bent out of shape that it couldn't have walked anywhere if it wanted to.

"We were still having a laugh at our victory over the slinky by the time Mum called us to dinner. The very first thing she asks when we get there is what happened, because between the tree and the slinky Fred was pretty beaten up. Without missing a beat, Fred says that he and I had decided to try and help out and de gnome the garden, because she was always pestering Bill and Charlie to do it, and that he hadn't reckoned on the gnomes having teeth. Mum takes one look out the window at the garden and the first thing she sees is a gnome, so she turns back to the table and says that she appreciates the effort but we're a bit young for the job, although if we really want to learn how, Bill could be convinced to give us a lesson. Then she turns to Bill and asks if he's found his wand yet and Bill pulls on this guilty look and says he's not sure how he missed it in the first place because it was on his night stand all along. I take a glance over at Ron and see that he's sitting about as far away from Bill as he can get and looking a bit worried, which was strange because Ron worshipped Bill. Fred must have noticed too and realized that Bill must have accused Ron of taking his wand, because a second later he grabbed Ron's plate and started piling it with food and when he gave it back there was a smiling face there, made out of Ron's dinner. He cheered up quite a bit after that. Finally, about half way through the meal, Dad asks about the slinky and Fred holds up the mangled mess we turned it into and says it missed a stair near the very top of the staircase and fell all the way down. So Dad takes it, and luckily, by then all of Fred's experiments have worn off, so Dad has no reason to suspect that things happened any different than Fred said they did. That must have been before he learned not to trust anything we say. We never told anybody what happened that day. In fact, I think this is the first time anyone besides us has ever known what actually happened with the slinky and Bill's wand."

George paused and took a deep breath.

"Fred was the sort of person who could make a joke out of almost anything. He was the only person I've ever met who could laugh when Binns assigned a five foot essay and laugh even harder when he realized that he'd forgotten about it until the night before it was due. To him, rules were made to be broken. He was always the one with a plan. Like in the story about the slinky, he didn't care that he wasn't allowed to do magic, he didn't even care that he didn't know how to do magic, he just wanted to try something new. And, at the same time, he always cleaned up his tracks; he had an excuse at hand and a way to pacify anyone he might have wronged along the way.

"If it wasn't for Fred, I wouldn't be the person I am. I don't know who I would be, but I think I'm better off having known him."

George paused again and ran a hand through his hair, trying to collect himself.

"The world needs people who can laugh at anything, but its short one now. Fred died fighting a war that refused to end, the last in a long list of casualties, but with his help, we won, and now people can laugh freely again. I might have Fred's face, but I'm not him. When Fred died he took a piece of me with him, a big piece that I didn't know how to live without at first, but he left a piece of himself in me too. I never used to be able to think of myself without him, but he's still here, in his jokes, and his legends, and that swamp in Hogwarts, and in m-"

George broke off suddenly and turned away from the crowd. He spent several minutes gazing at the rows upon rows of headstones before finally turning back.

"Sod it," George said suddenly, pulling the rest of them from their quiet contemplation. "Listen, Fred wouldn't want us to sit around crying over him, he'd want us to have a celebration, so that's what we're going to do. Someone go get some mead or something and I'll let off some fireworks. Does anyone want to hear about the class that gave us the idea for the Puking Pastille?"


	26. People of the Past

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, yo-yos, thimbles, and rubber bands are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from "Ballrooms of Mars" by T Rex.

**Chapter 26: People of the Past**

In all the activity, Harry nearly forgot about his promise to help Hermione regain her memory until a few days after Fred's funeral, and it was at least another day before he worked up the courage to bring it up again with Ron.

"Do you remember what I told you about Hermione? About her erasing her memory?" Harry asked Ron after he'd finally managed to secure a private conversation.

"It's kind of hard to forget," Ron replied. Harry had to force back a smirk at the irony of Ron's statement considering their topic of conversation.

"I promised her I'd do what I could to help her get her memories back," Harry continued.

Ron blanched. "Are you sure?"

Harry was inclined to agree with Ron's skepticism. Quite aside from the fact that breaking memory charms often lead to insanity, if Hermione had thought the memories were bad enough to make her decide to erase them in the first place, then perhaps it wouldn't be wise to help her remember them, but Harry shrugged and said, "She said she wants to remember."

"Alright," Ron replied. "I'll help."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione convened in the lounge attached to the substitute teacher's quarters they'd been staying in. Everyone agreed that a more familiar location, like the Gryffindor common room, would be optimal, but since guaranteed privacy was also required, they'd had to settle for the next best thing. Sydney and Michael had obligingly agreed to spend the day exploring the castle.

Usually, memory charms were difficult, if not impossible to break, especially without knowing what had been modified in the first place. Everyone wanted Hermione back the way she was before, so it was not their intent to break the charm with magic, rather, their strategy was to fill in the gaps by telling her what she'd forgotten and hope they'd manage to jog an actual memory. After all, they were together for most of the battle, and Harry and Ron figured that what they could offer was better than nothing.

After Harry and Ron had explained the situation to Professor McGonagall, she was only too eager to accommodate their request to borrow Dumbledore's Pensieve. However, they wished her enthusiasm had extended to her explanation on how to work the device, although Harry and Ron could hardly begrudge her for that, especially since, to their knowledge, she'd never used it herself. Their lack of ill feelings toward McGonagall didn't make their situation any less inconvenient, however. After all, Hermione had already proved quite expertly that memories were not to be trifled with.

This left the question of where to start; the beginning seemed a likely spot, but there were a great many to choose from.

"What's the last thing you remember before the blank?" Harry asked.

"Taking our N.E.W.T.s," Hermione replied thoughtfully.

Harry and Ron heaved huge sighs of relief. They'd committed themselves to reviewing every detail they could remember before they'd realized that the N.E.W.T.s might be included in the blank period, and neither of them had been very excited by the possibility of reliving that experience. In fact, they spent a considerable amount of time wishing it had never happened. After all, they'd only taken the tests in the first place because Hermione wanted to. Harry and Ron had thought that spending a year with their time split searching for Horcruxes and running from Death Eaters was no way to prepare for a test, and they'd expected Hermione to agree, but somehow she'd also spent the year in careful study and even dedicated a fair bit of time to trying to convince them to do the same. Ironically enough, Harry and Ron hadn't even done half bad. It was true that anyone besides them would never be accepted into Auror training with their marks, but there was something to be said for actually going out and using magic rather than sitting in classes and learning about it. After all, no matter how complex healing potions might be, it was difficult to forget the sequence of ingredients when they'd had reason to create one at least once every few weeks.

"Do you remember our last trip to Hogsmeade?" Ron asked. "It was just after the N.E.W.T.s."

Based on Hermione's desperately blank look, she didn't, something Ron seemed slightly hurt about, but he recovered quickly enough.

With their starting point thus established, Harry lifted his wand to his temple with a shaking hand, gallantly trying not to think of anything besides the final battle against Voldemort, which was, of course, entirely counterproductive. However, when he drew his wand away from his head he was quite astounded to discover that a silver strand of memory was hanging from the tip. Carefully, Harry dropped it into the Pensieve and went back to his head for more while Ron copied his movements.

As Hermione watched them she began looking more and more apprehensive about their forthcoming trip through their memories, but when Harry and Ron pronounced themselves finished and beckoned her forward, she didn't give any voice to her uncertainties.

"Ready?" Harry asked, glad he wouldn't be required to answer a similar question.

"Sure," Hermione confirmed.

With a steadying breath, Harry, Ron, and Hermione grasped hands and dove into the Pensieve.

They landed in the midst of a large crowd of people, filing past Filch on their way to Hogsmeade. The Harry, Ron, and Hermione of four months ago were a few steps ahead of them, their serious demeanor a stark contrast to the attitude of the rest of the mob. Seventh years were in abundance, enjoying the end of the N.E.W.T.S. and their final Hogsmeade visit before leaving Hogwarts.

It became immediately obvious that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not solid to the memories in the Pensieve, and after they'd been walked through a few times they decided that it was disconcerting enough to justify slipping beyond the borders of the crowd.

From the outside, the group's energy was even more palpable. Despite being slightly cross eyed and suffering from writer's cramp after hours of difficult tests, everyone seemed keen to enjoy the good weather. This was one of the few days in the entire year that the sun had made an appearance. However, the clouds never quite managed to escape over the horizon and, now that he was looking back on it, they seemed rather more ominous to Harry than he remembered.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed their counterparts to Hogsmeade remarking dizzily on how strange it was to watch themselves like this. The group spent the morning together, visiting all their favorite haunts for old time's sake, but during lunch at the Three Broomsticks, Harry suggested that Ron and Hermione ought to spend the rest of the day without him. They tried to object, but Harry insisted, so they finally agreed with the provision that they would all meet up again at Zonko's in three hours and return to Hogwarts together. With that, the group split apart and Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the other Ron and Hermione as they walked hand in hand down the street. The Harry of the present hung back a few paces from his friends, supposing that since he wasn't there when this part happened the first time around he didn't have much business intruding now.

Their afternoon was largely uneventful, mostly filled with wandering around random shops. However, the sun's appearance seemed too good to last and before long it had disappeared behind a few thick clouds, which started drizzling. Most of the students around them sighed morosely and took cover in a nearby shop or else started making their way back to Hogwarts. Before long it was raining with such ferocity that anyone left without cover was soon soaking wet. It was a rather strange experience for the Harry, Ron, and Hermione of the present to watch as everything around them became saturated with water but remain completely dry themselves.

The Hermione of the past had just posed the idea returning to Hogwarts as well when there was a sudden shout from up the street. Someone was running towards them as fast as his frequent pauses to talk to passing students would allow. Finally, when the figure was about ten meters away, they could finally discern his identity through the haze.

Harry raced up to Ron and Hermione and grabbed them each by an arm.

"We can't go back," he panted.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Can't go back where?" Hermione pressed. "Harry, what's going on?"

"I saw a cat…coming right at me…big cat…silver…patronus cat…McGonagall's patronus."

"Harry, slow down," Hermione pleaded.

"It was a warning…a warning to stay away…" Harry continued. "Hogwarts is being attacked, we can't go back."

The Harry of the present bit his lip, hoping to repress a shudder. It was almost painful to watch himself like this, not at all aware of what he was about to get into. He could practically feel the terror he felt four months ago when he was actually standing there, telling Ron and Hermione that Hogwarts was being attacked. It seemed wrong, somehow, to stand there watching this, perfectly safe while his memory was about to walk into such danger. He almost hoped that his scar would start prickling in sympathy and he felt his eyes tingling and turned away from the real Ron and Hermione until he recovered.

"But if there's Death Eaters in Hogwarts, then there must be some here," the Hermione of the past pointed out, panic rising in her voice.

"Dementors," Harry said.

"What? How do you know?" Ron asked.

"Dementors," Harry repeated, pointing at Hermione's hair, which was slowly becoming coated with ice.

"We can't stay here."

"Sirius' cave."

"Run!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione took off, surrounded by a small herd of animals, consisting of a stag, a dog, and an otter. Fifty Dementors trailed after them, but they couldn't approach because of the patronuses. It was almost a kilometer and a difficult climb to Sirius' cave, which was only made worse by the rain, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione took it at a dead run, pausing only long enough to ensure that they weren't leaving anyone behind.

The Harry, Ron, and Hermione of the present gave chase, but lacking the benefits of a sudden surge of adrenaline, they arrived at the cave several minutes behind their counterparts. Dementors hovered near the steep climb up to the cave, but again couldn't approach because of the patronuses.

The Harry of the present slid into the cave and stepped directly into the small blue fire Hermione had conjured. He yelped and jumped away even though he couldn't feel its heat. Ron and Hermione had similar reactions when they joined him in the cave. Feeling a little claustrophobic, they sat down just in time to watch Harry and Hermione thwart Ron's attempt to roast a marshmallow on the end of his wand.

"Blimey, you two really are tense."

"Why did you do that?" the Hermione of the present asked with a giggle, watching the other Ron divide the remaining marshmallows between the three of them.

"Well, did you have a look at you and Harry?" Ron replied. "I had to get the two of you to loosen up or else it would have been torture to stay here."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in silence, watching themselves experiment with the marshmallows, but before long Harry took to checking his watch with increasing frequency.

"We didn't seem to spend this long here the first time around," he sighed.

"Well, I suppose we all knew we weren't going to let the battle at Hogwarts play out without getting involved," Ron pointed out.

"For all we knew we were about to walk into the end of the world," Hermione said quietly. "I guess we needed one last chance to just be together."

There was a brief silence following Hermione's words, and then Ron asked, "Did you remember that?"

"Maybe," Hermione said with a shrug. "But it makes sense, so maybe I just figured it out."

"I'm going back to Hogwarts. You don't need to come with me, this isn't your battle."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all returned their attention to their counterparts at the other Harry's announcement.

"I don't understand why you always tell us that," Ron said. Hermione shushed them both before Harry could formulate a response.

"If I don't make it out, I want you to get out, take your parents and siblings. Leave England, leave Europe, go anywhere just as long as it's far away, and be happy for awhile."

"Sometimes I wish you'd taken me up on that offer," Harry sighed.

"It isn't good enough to only be happy for awhile," Ron replied.

"All or nothing," Hermione agreed.

"I'm going in there to fight with everything I have, and there's a good chance I won't live to tell about it, but if I don't try then this is never going to stop."

"Harry, you're going in there, that's fine, and we're coming with you whether you like it or not."

"We've come with you this far, Harry. This is hardly the time to back out."

As they got up to follow their counterparts out of the cave, Harry said, "I always told you that you could stay behind because I couldn't tell you that you had to come. No one can tell someone else that, not in situations like this, and I've been told enough times to know."

Thankfully, the Dementors had either given up or were still being held back by the patronuses, so their trip to the path back to Hogwarts via the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow went unhindered an unnoticed. The same could not be said for their time crossing Hogwarts' grounds: even though it was months later, Harry and Ron still stopped short when they saw the huge beast. Hermione, lacking the benefit of her memories of her encounter with it, was positively scared stiff.

"That's a Chimera," she breathed.

"Yeah," Ron replied.

"Why aren't we dead?"

"I often find myself wondering the same thing," Ron said with a shrug.

They watched in silence for a few minutes, until Hermione finally said, "Um, Harry, what were you saying?"

"What?" Harry asked. "Oh, so I was speaking Parsletongue?"

Ron and Hermione nodded and Harry spent the next few minutes translating his own hissing attempts to reason with the beast.

"I shouldn't have bothered," Harry realized. "It was obvious that it wasn't going to let us past. If we'd left we could have gotten away and found a different way into the castle."

"You don't know that, mate," Ron replied. "It's much faster than us on foot, and I don't think you'd thought to use your broom yet."

"Broom?" Hermione asked.

"Wait and see," Ron said. "It was brilliant."

Even though they were watching an event that happened four months in the past and they already knew the outcome, it was difficult not to flinch in fear when the Chimera finally attacked. So great was the peril of Ron and Hermione that even Harry couldn't help but watch them, and was thus caught off guard when his counterpart soared to their rescue on his Firebolt. He winced when the other Harry was crushed down across his broom from the added weight of his friends and Hermione stuffed her fingers in her mouth and began chewing on them as she watched Harry's valiant attempt to fly his friends to safety. She even let off a small whoop of relief when they finally reached the balcony on the second story, a noise that quickly melted into a yelp of fear when Harry took off once again to head the Chimera into the forest. Harry had to dodge her punch when his counterpart reemerged and flew over to join the other Ron and Hermione on the balcony.

"Hey, come on! You didn't have a problem with that the first time around," Harry pointed out.

"That doesn't mean it was a good idea," Hermione replied. "It just means that we were in a battle zone."

"It's over, Hermione, leave him alone," Ron said with a sigh. "Let's go inside. We'll miss something if we stay out here much longer."

Hermione gave Harry one last look and followed Ron toward the doors. Harry sighed as he watched her retreating back, quite certain that he was going to be hearing a lot more from Hermione as they went on.

It became immediately obvious upon entering Hogwarts that it was one thing to watch a battle from far away, and quite another to stand, unseen, in the midst of it. The air was practically filled with spells as teachers, Aurors, Order members, and Death Eaters all attempted to gain the upper hand. The observers caught themselves holding their breaths as though they would inhale one of the many balls of light if they weren't careful. Harry forced himself to look away and caught a glimpse of the other Harry and Ron arguing near the banister of the second level.

"Come on," he said, pulling his friends towards the staircase. "I think we find Dumbledore soon."

"Dumbledore?" Hermione squeaked. "But how?"

"Wait and see," Ron replied.

By the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione got upstairs their counterparts had already gathered around a portrait. They could hear Dumbledore's voice emanating from it.

"I thought I might be seeing you three here. I told Professor McGonagall that it would be no use warning you to stay away."

"This is my battle."

"So it is."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched as Dumbledore explained the situation as he knew it, then suggested that they press the advantage given by the invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map. Hermione smacked Harry's shoulder when Dumbledore supposed that they would be heading up to the Gryffindor Tower.

"You left the Marauder's Map in your room!" she demanded.

"You might remember that when we left for Hogsmeade that morning everyone thought Voldemort was in Albania," Harry pointed out with a wince.

"Oh," Hermione breathed. "Right. Well, why didn't you just summon it?"

"Because we didn't know what it was like at the portrait hole," Harry explained. "There could have been a horde of Death Eaters waiting outside, so when the portrait hole opened to let the map out it might have let them all in."

"But you summoned your Firebolt," Hermione pressed.

"It was in the broom shed, luckily," Harry replied.

Dumbledore finished asking Ron and Hermione to look after Harry, then there was a brief debate at the banister about whether or not they really could have turned the tide of the battle downstairs, during which they only decided that it was not the time for cerebral discussions. Finally, they covered themselves with the invisibility cloak and took off for the Gryffindor Tower.

Harry had expected to find that following their counterparts during this stretch would be impossible, but apparently something about the Pensieve made it so that they could still see themselves even if they were under the invisibility cloak.

"Maybe because what you remember is of being under the cloak," Hermione suggested as they followed their counterparts up the stairs. "So you know where you were."

No one said it, but it was very difficult not to laugh at themselves as they shuffled up the stairs, slightly translucent and crouching uncomfortably under apparently nothing.

Most of the staircases were completely useless. Apparently, one form of defense against the Death Eaters was to put the stairs in a perpetual state of motion and hinder anyone's attempts to gain the upper levels. Fortunately, even without the Marauder's Map, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had a fierce command of the castle's secret passages and were able to make their way up to the Gryffindor common room using the least amount of staircases possible.

The Harry, Ron, and Hermione under the cloak slowed their pace when they heard voices echoing from ahead of them and finally stopped around the corner from a staircase. Harry leaned out to catch a glimpse of what was ahead of them, then turned to Ron and Hermione and reported five Death Eaters.

"Blimey, she is good," the Ron of the present said as he, Harry, and Hermione wandered up the nearby stairs to have a closer look at the Death Eaters.

"Who?" Hermione asked, giving Ron a puzzled look.

"Tonks," Ron replied, leaning in to inspect a female Death Eater who looked something like Bellatrix Lestrange.

"That's Tonks?" Hermione yelped.

Ron didn't need to reply, for their counterparts chose that moment to attack, and the Death Eater he had been watching took one look at the three of them and immediately started battling the other Death Eaters. Hardly a second had elapsed before both she and Harry had stunned two of the Death Eaters they were dueling.

"Get out of here!"

Ron and Hermione immediately did as she'd asked, dragging Harry along with them as they retreated up the stairs, disappearing under the invisibility cloak as they went.

"Look at her fight," Harry breathed, watching Tonks dispatch the final two Death Eaters in less time than it took the Harry, Ron, and Hermione of the memory, who were upstairs and around the corner, to decide that she didn't need help. Now that he'd really seen her fight, Harry couldn't believe that he'd ever thought she'd been killed in this battle.

After Tonks won her duel, Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to following their counterparts upstairs. Mercifully, the corridor leading up to the Gryffindor tower was deserted, but they were hung up briefly by the portrait of the Fat Lady, who refused to let anyone into the tower, no matter how many passwords they had. The fact that they were still invisible didn't help matters one bit.

"Please!" Harry begged as they slipped out from under the cloak. "It's very important that we get inside. We're on orders from Dumbledore."

"I'm on orders from Headmistress McGonagall," the Fat Lady said, putting her hands resolutely on her hips. "There's simply no telling whether or not you're Death Eaters in disguise, especially since you should already be inside."

"I suppose it wouldn't help if I told you that Sirius Black slashed up your picture while we were all at the Halloween feast during our third year because you wouldn't let him inside," Harry muttered wearily.

"It most certainly would not," the Fat Lady replied indignantly, but she was obviously battling herself.

Harry set about trying to exploit this new found weakness, but the other Harry turned to the hallway behind them. Now that he wasn't focused on the stubborn portrait, the Death Eater's approach was woefully obvious. He couldn't help but kick himself for allowing his guard to drop so spectacularly. With a sigh, Harry touched Ron and Hermione's elbows and directed their attention to where the true action was about to occur. Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hands when she spotted the approaching Death Eater, but Ron merely smirked and made sure that she didn't look away.

They became more and more anxious as the Death Eater crept steadily closer to their unsuspecting counterparts, but Harry had already spotted their savior. Peeves was floating merrily at the top of the nearest staircase in blatant defiance of the surrounding pictures, who were trying to impress the importance of silence upon him. Finally, Peeves stuck his thumbs in his ears and blew a loud, long raspberry before flying away.

The Harry, Ron, and Hermione of the memory spun around to face the disturbance while the Death Eater tried to dodge behind a nearby statue, but he wasn't quite fast enough.

It wasn't immediately obvious what happened. One second the Death Eater was racing toward the cover of the statue, and the next he'd paused and straightened up, a blank expression on his face.

Everyone, including the Fat Lady, turned as one to face the memory of Hermione, who still had her wand raised and a defiant expression on her face.

"You did that?" the memory of Ron asked, mystified.

Hermione nodded, but the wonders had yet to cease. Slowly, the Death Eater's eyes slid back into focus and he shook his head experimentally.

"What happened?" he asked, spying Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"You didn't just wipe his memory, did you?" Ron breathed. "You modified it."

"I've been wondering how you managed to wipe your own memory without hurting yourself," the other Ron said. "I figured it was just because you're a genius, but Hermione, I had no idea."

Harry nodded. He hadn't realized just how short a span of time Hermione'd had to devise that spell. If she could modify someone else's memory in a split second but leave the rest of the person's brain intact, then she could do anything.

"What happened?" the Death Eater repeated, running his left hand through his matted hair and catching a glimpse of the dark mark tattooed on his wrist. "Where did I get this?"

"Are you alright?" the memory of Hermione asked congenially, leaving a stunned Harry and Ron behind her. "Sorry I had to do that, McGonagall's probably going to kill me, but no one ever told us the keyword and I couldn't just let you capture us, could I?"

"Sorry," the Death Eater stammered, "but what keyword?"

"Oh, right, I suppose you wouldn't know," Hermione laughed. "The mind's a funny thing that way. You're a sleeper agent for the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore did something to your memory so you wouldn't remember unless someone told you the keyword. Then you'd make your reports, someone would tell you another keyword to make you forget again, and you'd go back to the Death Eaters like nothing ever happened. You've been very helpful over the years."

"Oh," the Death Eater sighed.

"Does any of this sound familiar?" Hermione asked.

The Death Eater shook his head. "Did I volunteer for this?"

"Oh dear," Hermione said with a look of shock that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I must have done a worse job than I thought. It wasn't ever supposed to happen like this, I'm-"

"Nott!"

The shout came from some distance away, but still far too close for comfort.

"Nott, is that me?" the Death Eater asked as the group slunk into the nearest shadowed corner.

Hermione's eyes flicked up to the ceiling then back to the Death Eater before she spoke. "Yeah, that's you."

"Then they're probably going to come this way looking for me," Nott said. "Listen, I'll go distract them, you three do what you need to do."

Harry and Ron seemed to think this was a satisfactory solution, but Hermione yelped, "No wait, if they find out what's really been going on…"

"I know," Nott replied. "But I guess it's what I'm for. Thanks for telling me the truth."

With that, he left, running towards where the shout had come from.

"How did you come up with all that" Ron asked as soon as Nott was out of earshot.

"I don't know," Hermione said with a shrug, glancing with some concern down the hallway. "I might have seen something like that in a Muggle movie when I was a kid."

"Are you convinced we're not working for the Death Eaters now?" Harry asked, turning back to the Fat Lady.

"Yes, yes, alright, come on," she relented, swinging open.

"We should probably stay out here, just in case I didn't do as good of a job on him as I thought," Hermione suggested. Ron nodded.

"Alright," the memory of Harry agreed. "I won't be long, but take the cloak."

As they watched Harry climb into the portrait hole, the Ron of the present said, "Nothing exciting happened out here, we might as well follow Harry."

The three of them slipped through the portrait hole as well and watched as the terrified faces of the Gryffindors huddled on the floor in their common room melted into mere alarm when they realized it was only Harry and not a group of Death Eaters who had come to call.

Ginny came forward, followed by any members of the DA who were present. The group discussed the situation in hushed tones.

After a few minutes, Harry turned to the room at large and issued a few orders that the others were far too scared to carry out.

"Good pep talk," Hermione muttered. "Really toughened them up, that did."

Harry buried his head in his hands, but his counterpart wasn't finished yet.

"Come on you lot. We're Gryffindors, famed for our bravery. Each and every one of you was put into this house for a reason. The sorting hat saw courage in you, live up to it! Tonight we are all in danger, and tonight we may all be called upon in this battle. I know you're afraid, I know you don't want to fight, but if it comes down to it, you will have to choice to give up or to strike back. You can't give up. Together, you can face anything that comes through that portrait; all you need is to be ready for it."

"Much better," the Hermione of the present breathed as the Gryffindors finally started to carry out Harry's suggestions.

"We're with you, Harry," Ginny said. None of the members of the DA had taken Harry up on his offer to stay behind.

"Alright," Harry said. "I just need the Marauder's Map; I'll be back in a minute."

While Harry was upstairs, the younger students scrambled up to the girls' dormitories and the DA members helped the older students organize their defenses. Indeed, when Harry returned it was all he could do to blink in surprise at the sudden change. Not only was the configuration of the room different, but the prevailing attitude had also changed from fear and panic to alert confidence.

"I guess we're ready, then," Harry said.

Wordlessly, Harry, the DA, and the three observers departed the common room through the portrait hole.

Ron and Hermione's surprise at seeing Harry's company was apparent when they ducked out from under the invisibility cloak.

"They wanted to help," Harry offered with a shrug.

"I'm not sure how much use this is going to be, then," Ron said, handing back Harry's invisibility cloak. "There's no way we'll all fit under there."

"I guess not," Harry replied. He hadn't considered that problem. He reluctantly pocketed the cloak, supposing that it wouldn't be at all fair if some of the group went concealed and the rest didn't.

"Listen, Harry, why don't Seamus and I go and see if we can check on the other houses," Dean suggested. "We've got some friends in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and we know where their common rooms are."

"Alright, if you're sure," Harry said with a shrug. "Be careful, though."

Dean and Seamus nodded and started off down a nearby hallway, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville to slip into the nearest secret passageway to consult the Marauder's Map. Their perusal was helpful and telling, but even with five sets of eyes it was some time before they located Voldemort. At last, Hermione gasped and pointed at a small dot labeled Tom Riddle that was stalking around the second floor.

They charted out a workable route and started off, but they only made it half way down the hallway before they happened upon a reason to stop. Nott, the Death Eater who'd had his memory modified, was there, and he was dead.

"The other Death Eaters must have noticed that something was different about him," the memory of Harry said sadly. Hermione seemed rooted to the spot. Ron had to take her arm and guide her past.

Still more trouble arose on the fourth floor. Ginny, who'd taken over keeping an eye on the map for Hermione, motioned them all behind a large tapestry. The observers were left outside the tapestry but they heard Ron try to ask what was going on. The tapestry fluttered slightly as Ginny shushed him roughly by throwing an arm across his face.

"That wouldn't have shut me up," the Ron of the present admitted, "except that she hit my nose too." He was rubbing his own nose in sympathy.

Sure enough, before long, Bellatrix Lestrange came walking by. Those behind the tapestry were doing their best not to breathe, but to the observers it was quite obvious that if something was going to alert Bellatrix to their counterparts' presence, it wouldn't have been their breathing: Ron's feet were poking out from under the tapestry, but it didn't make much difference anyway.

"Neville, where are you going?" Hermione whispered urgently as Neville slipped out from behind the tapestry and pointed his wand at the Death Eater. The Hermione of the present gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth.

Bellatrix spun slowly on the spot.

"Ah! Ickle Longbottom. I wondered if I'd be seeing you here."

"Neville!" Harry cried as he darted out from behind the tapestry. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Do you?"

The Hermione of the present winced at Neville's feeble attempt to give life to a nearby suit of armor, and when Neville fell, despite his shield, to Bellatrix's Sectumsempra spell, she demanded, "Why aren't we helping him!"

"Look," Harry replied, pointing at Neville as he held a hand up, preventing their counterparts from acting on the exact same idea. "He didn't want our help and he deserved to try and finish her on his own if he wanted."

By this time Neville regained his feet and the duel had begun in earnest. Hermione grew increasingly tense as the fight continued, watching Neville's avenues of escape decrease by the second, but even knowledge of what was about to happen didn't prevent Harry and Ron from flinching when the duel came to its abrupt end. Hermione turned away, her fingers stuffed in her ears, when Bellatrix glanced down and the sword that had impaled her and started laughing.

"Cruc-!"

"Stupefy!"

Bellatrix fell crashing down with the suit of armor on top of her and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny rushed forward to tie her up while Harry came over to speak with Neville. The other Harry, however, edged carefully away from the pair, unwilling to witness that terrible conversation about Neville's parents again.

"We've got to keep going," the memory of Harry said finally.

"Alright," Neville replied gamely, but his legs seemed unwilling to obey his commands: he took one step and tripped over his numb feet. Harry had to catch him and lower him to the ground. Now that he was there, Neville looked like he never wanted to stand up again.

"You three go on," Ginny offered. "I'll take him back up to the common room. It'll be safe there. I'll find you lot afterwards."

"Alright," Harry agreed, "but take the Marauder's Map, it'll help you find us."

"You need it more than I do," Ginny protested.

"Ginny, please," Harry begged.

"Oh, all right," Ginny relented, handing the map to Hermione, who gave it one last perusal before giving it back.

Meanwhile, Harry had clamped a hand over his forehead. By Ginny's account, the most opposition she and Neville encountered was an Auror who insisted that she remain in the Gryffindor tower along with Neville and wouldn't hear a word about an enchanted map. By the time she managed to sneak away with most of the rest of the older students, who'd insisted on helping, it was too late to catch up with Harry and Ron, although they did make quite a dent in the Death Eater's ranks while trying.

"Things might have gone differently if we'd had that map," Harry said. Ron nodded

They stood there for a moment, watching Ginny stagger away under Neville's weight, then turned back to their counterparts and followed them to the next staircase. However, before they got there they happened upon an area strewn with limp bodies. Much of the surrounding marble had disintegrated and the floor was covered in the powder. The Harry, Ron, and Hermione of the past glanced at each other.

"We decided to follow that trail," Hermione said with a grimace, inferring their counterparts' unspoken agreement as they crept down a nearby set of stairs.

"You have betrayed me."

Before another second elapsed, the Harry, Ron, and Hermione of the past had taken whatever cover they could get from the banister, but the other Harry and Ron couldn't help but laugh at their strange idea of a protected hiding place. Hermione, on the other hand, was glancing in the direction of the voices in back at their counterparts with some concern. It hadn't taken her long at all to figure out that if a Death Eater happened by he wouldn't be fooled for a second.

"No, master."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione soon tired of their counterparts' argument about whether or not they should go attack Voldemort and Snape now and wandered off to investigate for themselves.

The scene was slightly blurry, as though the Pensieve hadn't been quite sure what to make of it, but when Harry blinked and squinted into the mist it was quite obvious that, in addition to Snape and Voldemort, at least six Death Eaters were present.

"So you were right then," Harry sighed, looking at Ron and Hermione. "If we'd tried to help we only would have gotten killed too."

"And yet you persist in feeding me lies. I know your loyalty has been to Dumbledore since before my powers broke at the hands of that Potter. I know you have been passing information to the Order of the Phoenix for the past three years, and yet you have still maintained the illusion of servility to me. Don't look so surprised, why shouldn't I have pressed my advantage? You have been giving false information to the Order all this time. Why else would everyone assure you that we were staying in Albania if we were about to attack here?"

"You will not succeed, the Order will stop you."

"I doubt it, but I suppose I must wait and see. You, however, will not be given that pleasure. Your usefulness has run out and you will now greet the same fate that meets all who defy me. Avada Kedavra!"

Despite themselves, Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn't help but wince and turn away when Snape slumped lifelessly to the floor.

A few seconds later, the other Harry, Ron, and Hermione appeared, bunched together awkwardly under the invisibility cloak. They chose to follow the two Death Eaters who had fallen behind the rest of the group, but the other Harry and Ron shot exacerbated looks at each other, for the Pensieve had just proved what they had suspected: Voldemort had left in the opposite direction.

They carried on following the Death Eaters until it was obvious that their quarry was either completely lost or hadn't had a destination in mind in the first place. So the three of them took to wandering, hoping to find some indication of where to go next. At last, they happened to glance down to an intersection of two hallways, where no less than five Death Eaters were standing.

"It looks like they're guarding something," the Harry of the past and the Hermione of the present said simultaneously.

Hermione started giggling so much at the coincidence that she missed when her counterpart spoke up in agreement.

They watched themselves formulate a plan to attack the Death Eaters from three sides then set off in opposite directions. Ron watched Hermione disappear down a darkened corridor to the right with a bemused expression.

"That's not helpful," he muttered. "We can't show you what you did while you were down there."

"Well, it can't be that exciting, can it?" Hermione replied. "All I had to do was get to that other hallway. Sure it's a long detour, but I should have been able to make it in three minutes."

"That's just it, though, you didn't," Harry said. "Can we follow her?"

Ron walked toward the corridor, his hands raised, testing the space before him. Sure enough, before very long he'd come across an invisible barrier, blocking his progress down the hallway.

Shrugging at one another, they followed the other Harry down the center hallway. When three minutes had elapsed, Harry and Ron attacked, but Hermione was nowhere to be found.

"I guess the two of you really don't need my help in these fights, do you?" Hermione said, as they watched Harry and Ron make quick work of the Death Eaters. She sounded impressed.

"You didn't do so bad yourself, have a look," Harry offered as the other Harry and Ron began to backtrack Hermione's route.

When an initial look down the hallways yielded no answers, the Harry and Ron of the past began trying doors at random. Finally, they happened to open a door and catch a glimpse of a Death Eater running out of the room through a door on the opposite side of the classroom. With a shout, they gave chase, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione hung back.

"We didn't catch him anyway," Ron muttered.

They turned their attention instead to the other Hermione, who was gingerly picking herself up off the floor.

"See what I mean?" Harry said as Hermione stooped to retrieve her wand. "He had you on the ground and wandless but you still managed to put him on the run."

"I'm not sure," Hermione said, moving closer to inspect her own broken nose and bleeding forehead.

When the other Harry and Ron returned a minute later, they looked both surprised and impressed to see Hermione there.

"You dueled him?" Ron asked, gesturing to the door behind him.

Hermione didn't respond, she just continued looking shocked.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Harry asked, eying her suspiciously.

"Yeah, I think so," Hermione replied, slowly coming out of her daze. She sounded surprised.

"I'm not sure I was," the other Hermione said quietly.

"Nice duel," the Harry of the memory continued. "Are you alright to keep going?"

"Let's go."

Mercifully, no other Death Eaters had happened upon the scene of Harry and Ron's battle, so the way was still clear and Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped back underneath the invisibility cloak and continued onward.

As they traced their shrouded counterparts' progress down the corridor, Ron began glancing sideways down nearby hallways.

"I can't even see him," Ron said. "How do you think he found us?"

"Maybe he smelled us," Harry suggested.

"But he wasn't transformed," Ron pointed out. "Could he really smell us if he was in human form?"

"Maybe it didn't make a difference for him," Harry sighed.

"Who are you talking about?" Hermione asked. "Lupin?"

"No, worse," Ron shuddered.

Realization was just dawning on Hermione when, from nowhere, Fenrir Greyback knocked their counterparts to the ground, sending the cloak askew.

Hermione watched herself and Ron duck back under the cloak with a tilted head and wrinkled nose.

"Why did I do that?" she demanded. "Greyback obviously could tell where we were even with the cloak."

"Well, we didn't know that at the time," Ron replied. "At that point we didn't even know for sure who it was. For all we could tell he'd just run into us by accident."

They watched as Harry bravely decided to remain outside of the cloak and Hermione gasped when Pettigrew tackled the werewolf to the ground.

"Why would Pettigrew want to do that?" she demanded.

"I don't know for sure," Harry admitted. "But I suppose it might have something to do with the time I stopped Sirius and Lupin from killing him in our third year. Dumbledore said that he owed me a debt. I guess that was his way of paying me back."

While Harry was talking, Lupin entered the battle, yelling at the other Harry to hide. As if on cue, Ron and Hermione came up behind Harry and threw the cloak over him as well.

Six stunned sets of eyes watched as Lupin and Pettigrew worked together to bring about the end of Greyback. From Harry's outside perspective, it was obvious that Lupin had deliberately extended his conversation with Greyback, just so that Pettigrew would have to get close enough to make his move.

"It's so strange to see them fighting on the same side like…oh-" Hermione trailed off and turned away when Pettigrew crushed Greyback's leg.

Before long, it was Lupin's turn to save Pettigrew and put an end to Greyback, then, for a moment, it was all the two former friends could do to stare at each other.

"So, we can work together after all, Moony."

"I suppose so, Wormtail."

The Hermione of the present yelled in outrage when Pettigrew used the brief moment when Lupin let his guard down to launch his attack. Within a minute, Lupin had fallen backwards over the banister to the hard stone floor below.

Neither version of Harry, Ron, and Hermione could see where he had landed, but it didn't stop those under the invisibility cloak from darting down the nearest set of stairs to look.

"We really should have kept looking for Voldemort," the Hermione of the present said.

"We know," Ron replied.

"Lupin would have wanted us to keep going," Hermione persisted.

"He told us," Harry said.

"We found him?" Hermione asked, awestruck. "Alive? But Pettigrew, that fall."

"He was in rough shape," Harry admitted. "Here we go."

Their counterparts had finally found their former Professor and abandoned the invisibility cloak. Hermione, looking distraught, silently volunteered to keep watch over the sorrowful scene.

"Professor? Professor Lupin?"

"Harry, you shouldn't be here. You have to go. Everyone's counting on you."

"Everyone can wait."

Ron had forced himself away from the scene and was studying the Hermione of the past with some concern. It couldn't be said that she was keeping much of a watch at all. Instead, she was leaning against the nearest wall and shaking uncontrollably.

"Hermione, were you alright?" Ron asked.

Hermione shot him a look and he relented. Of course she couldn't remember if she'd been alright or not.

"I can't count the number of times I have been amazed by the ingenuity of all three of you. Together there is nothing that can stop you."

As Lupin grabbed Harry and Ron by the arms and uttered his last words ("Help her!"), the Harry of the present realized something he hadn't noticed before.

"He was looking right at you when he said that, Hermione."

"Looking at me?" Hermione asked. "But why? He can't have known I was going to erase my memory."

"He was a smart guy," Harry said with a shrug, watching their counterparts pull themselves away from Lupin's body. "Maybe he guessed."

"Are we sure Hermione really got into a duel with that Death Eater when we weren't there before?" Ron asked.

"I guess not," Harry admitted, "but what else could it have been?"

"I don't know, but she started acting differently afterwards," Ron pointed out. "Do you remember anything about it now Hermione?"

"It's all still blank," Hermione said. "But why don't we just try coming back to it later. The other ones of us have already run off."

She was right, of course, and a group of passing Death Eaters was leaving after a few rough jabs at Professor Lupin's prone body, but Harry wasn't prepared to move on just yet. They didn't have long to wait. The last Death Eater had just barely turned the corner when Lupin forced in another rasping breath and opened his eyes.

Harry would have stayed longer, as though his actions now could somehow prevent Lupin from dying alone in the past, but the Pensieve had started to force them away. With nothing else for it, they ran to catch up with their counterparts.

When they found them, they were in the midst of a heated debate.

"Listen, I don't like the distraction idea either, but we can't ambush these Death Eaters, there's no way over there."

"You know things go better when the three of us stick together," Ron pointed out.

"I'm open to suggestions," Harry replied.

"I'll do it," Hermione said.

"What?" Ron demanded.

"You heard me," Hermione replied. "I'll go over there under Harry's invisibility cloak, make some noises, head them off, and I'll come back as soon as I can."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded and Harry gave her the invisibility cloak. Wishing each other good luck, they parted ways. When Hermione put the cloak on she became completely invisible, even to the observers.

"You managed to lead the Death Eaters away just fine, but you never did manage to come back. The way Ginny tells it, lead those Death Eaters right to her group of students, they stunned them and you joined their little resistence," Harry said.

"I'm sorry," Hermione sighed. "You must have been worried about me."

"We would have been," Harry replied, "but we didn't really get a chance."

"Ginny said you were in a right state," Ron continued, "You came upon Sturgis Podmore and tried to make him and the Order to mount a proper rescue for Harry and I, but they wouldn't until all the students were evacuated. You even tried to go back by yourself, but they stopped you. If you want to watch that then I guess we'll have to get Ginny's memories in here."

"Is that it, then?" Harry asked, as the Death Eaters that had been causing trouble for their counterparts stalked away, following an unseen source of noise. "That's the end of your part in the battle."

"Can we keep going anyway?" Hermione asked. "I want to see how it ends."

"You already know how it ends," Harry replied jovially.

"Sure, let's keep going," Ron said over him. "I've got some missing pieces in here too, remember?"

Harry winced, but agreed.

The Harry and Ron of the past carried on for a few minutes, but it became increasingly obvious that the trail had grown cold. It was beginning to look as though they would have to resort to wandering at random again when they heard a loud pop.

The memories of Harry and Ron quickly retreated behind the nearest statue, but the Hermione of the present placed her hands squarely on her hips and demanded, "How many times do I have to remind you that Wizards can't Apparate or Disapparate inside of Hogwarts?"

"You don't," Ron muttered as Dobby crept apologetically into view. "It wasn't that we forgot, we just didn't remember it at the time."

The other Harry and Ron cautiously broke their cover as soon as they saw their company and knelt down to speak with the tiny elf.

"Harry Potter, sir," Dobby squeaked. "Dobby has been watching the Death Eaters, and he has seen that a terrible plot is afoot…" He trailed off, apparently fighting with himself.

"What kind of plot, Dobby?" Harry asked, but the elf seemed to have lost the ability to explain. "Did Mr. Malfoy order you not to tell us? He's not your master anymore, you don't have to listen to him."

Dobby shook his head, his ears drooping.

"Did the Death Eaters do something else, then?" Harry pressed, his mind finally settling on a likely possibility. "Did they threaten to do something to the other House Elves if you told us?"

Dobby looked straight at Harry, his eyes wide. It seemed like a yes.

"I can't promise to protect you and the other House Elves," Harry said, a great deal of regret in his voice, "but you all have much more power than you tend to use. Why don't you try telling the others that McGonagall gave them permission to defend themselves."

Dobby nodded slowly.

"Great," Harry said. "If you know, it would really help us if you can just point us in the direction of Voldemort."

After a moment's consideration, Dobby pointed a shaking hand in the direction of a nearby secret passageway that led to a corridor on the west side of the second floor, then he trotted away, throwing his head against the wall whenever the opportunity arose.

"Well, that way, then," Harry said with a shrug.

"He never told you what the Death Eater's plan was," Hermione pointed out.

"A group of them were in the Room of Requirement working out a way to turn Hogwarts' defenses again the Aurors and the Order," Harry explained. "Hogwarts would still be in their hands if the House Elves hadn't stopped them."

"Wait," Hermione stammered. "The House Elves stopped them?"

"The Order helped a bit, but it was mostly them," Harry confirmed. "After Dobby convinced the rest of them that they could defend themselves, they decided that they could defend Hogwarts too. Dobby's a hero, but you'd never be able to get him to admit it."

Tears of pride filled Hermione's eyes as she, Harry, and Ron followed their counterparts to an innocent enough stretch of hallway, and the Harry and Ron of their memories were treating it as such, jogging cavalierly toward their destination. The Harry and Ron of the present, however, were being much more cautious and jumping at sudden noises. Their attitudes were not unfounded.

The spells seemed to come from everywhere at once, catching even those who knew what was about to happen off guard. Forgetting their state of invulnerability, Harry, Ron, and Hermione dropped automatically to the floor, but it wouldn't have been fast enough: the spells passed harmlessly through their stomachs. Before they recovered enough to observe the fate of the other Harry and Ron, everything went dark.

"What now?" Hermione moaned.

"We're unconscious," Ron replied, a slight quiver in his voice. After spending hours on end in the dark of Malfoy Manor he wasn't at all keen on doing it again. "I guess we'll just have to wait until we remember something, or Harry remembers something, more like. I haven't got a clue what happened after this."

At intervals the space around them would lighten a bit, but the hallway was fuzzy looking and pulsing slightly as Harry and Ron were dragged unceremoniously away, groggy from the stunning spells. The other Harry, Ron, and Hermione had a great deal of trouble keeping their balance as the floor and walls seemed to move around them.

"Ron," Harry began carefully. "Before we get to it, there's something I should tell you…"

But it was too late for that, the darkness had changed. It was no longer the pitch black that the Pensieve used to manifest unconsciousness. They were now standing in a deeply shadowed chamber somewhere in the dungeons. Harry could just barely see his counterpart sitting in the corner and valiantly struggling against the ropes around his arms and feet. Ron was nowhere to be found.

"Ron, I really think you should hear this from me first," Harry tried, observing that his friend had become immensely interested in watching the bound and tied Harry.

"So nice of you to join me."

Ron and Hermione yelped and jumped aside as Voldemort materialized from the shadows behind them. Harry merely sighed. It seemed that he wasn't going to be able to broach the topic on his own terms. He supposed he deserved it. After all, he'd had four and a half months.

"Voldemort!"

"We really must stop meeting like this. I'll have to see what I can do about it."

"If you're going to kill me at least make a proper duel of it. Only a coward would kill someone who can't fight ba-"

Voldemort raised his wand and a bolt of red light erupted from it. The Harry on the floor tried to brace himself for it, but the impact never came.

Both Ron and Hermione gasped as the other Ron burst into the room and, without even taking a second to consider the implications, jumped in front of the spell. It hit him in the right arm and angry red welts began to cover his hand, arm, and neck where they were visible. He started screaming before he hit the ground.

Rather than horrified, Ron looked impressed at his own daring, but there was plenty of time for horrors yet.

The other Harry squirmed his way over to his fallen friend, grabbed up his wand and undid the restraints. Standing up, he pointed Ron's wand at Voldemort.

"I expected him to try and kill me right away," Harry said, "but…"

Harry couldn't finish, for Voldemort had started laughing, and even four months later the sound chilled him to the bone. Still laughing, Voldemort left for the next room. The darkened room was briefly given the illumination of its neighbor, but Voldemort pulled the door shut behind him. Hermione gasped.

"At first I wasn't sure why he would do that," Harry said with a shudder. "Then I realized…"

"He was making you choose," Hermione finished for him.

"At first the choice was obvious," Harry continued. "I'd gotten close enough to kill him before and I'd do it again, and Ron needed help right away. But then I thought about all the Aurors and members of the Order who'd sacrificed themselves to make sure I could get this far and I couldn't let that go to waste. Plus, Voldemort probably could have made himself a whole new set of Horcruxes after that night and I couldn't let everything start over."

They watched Harry's face harden, and then he followed Voldemort into the next room.

"You decided to fight him," Ron said. His inflection was difficult to interpret.

"I did," Harry replied, unable to look at Ron.

Ron walked away from the group and stood, starring into the shadows for several minutes. They could just barely hear Harry's attempts to reason with Voldemort over Ron's cries of pain.

"We don't have to do this! If we both just walk away right now neither of us would have to die. We could agree never to see each other again. This doesn't have to happen."

"The Seer said, 'Neither may live while the other survives.' Seers can't lie while in a trace."

"But they can't see everything either. That Seer saw one possibility out of trillions of futures. We still have a choice."

"You have proven yourself to be a threat to me. I cannot allow you to live."

"Excellent." Contrary to his own argument with Voldemort, Harry sounded rather eager for it to come to a fight.

At last the Ron of the present turned back to Harry. "If I'd been able to, I would have told you to go after You-Know-Who."

"You would've?" Harry asked blankly, his voice shaking.

"I didn't jump in front of that spell so you could toss it all in right there and save me instead of stopping him," Ron pointed out.

"But look at you," Harry said, gesturing desperately to Ron's counterpart. "You're dying, I left you to die."

"I didn't die," Ron replied. "You saved me."

"But your arm," Harry protested. "It won't get better."

"That's alright," Ron maintained, stepping forward to shake Harry's hand. "There are more important things."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to do or think, so he just stood there for a minute, not understanding how Ron could forgive him so easily. As far as Harry was concerned, leaving Ron behind was just as unforgivable as the spell his counterpart was about to use on Voldemort. It wasn't until Ron spoke again that Harry snapped out of his reverie.

"Are you coming?"

Ron and Hermione were standing at the threshold of the next room. In fact, Ron seemed rather eager to be out of the company of his screaming counterpart.

"I've seen it," Harry replied. He chose to remain behind, as though he could somehow be of some help to his friend.

Ron and Hermione didn't question his decision. They even left him alone for a few minutes, at least until Ron shouted, "Blimey, Harry, where did you learn to duel like that?"

"Duel like what?" Harry asked wearily, not looking away from the wounded Ron, who was visibly weakening to the spells effects.

"I knew it couldn't have all been luck, but why didn't you tell us?" Hermione demanded.

"What are you talking about?" Harry called back. "You've seen me duel before." He certainly didn't remember dueling especially well. In fact, he was fairly certain that Voldemort had been toying with him for most of the fight.

"Never like this," Ron replied, an obvious grin in his voice.

With a sigh, Harry stood up and joined his friends in the neighboring chamber, blinking at the light. He couldn't help but stop short when he got there.

"Is that me?" Harry asked, watching the flurry of spells passing between himself and Voldemort. Certainly, he wasn't making much progress in actually beating back his opponent, but it was sufficient at least to keep too many of Voldemort's spells from actually hitting their mark.

"Unless the memory you put in here was of some self-inflated version of yourself," Hermione pointed out, but she hadn't stopped sounding impressed despite the cynicism of her statement.

"Can't be," Ron replied cheerfully. "Everything else we've seen has been accurate."

Harry merely shrugged and they returned their attention to the battle. Even he had to admit that in action he was something to see.

However, Harry could only keep Voldemort back for so long and eventually a Crucio curse broke through. Screaming in pain, Harry dropped to his knees, but the effect of the curse didn't last very long at all. Stranger still, when Harry returned unsteadily to his feet, Voldemort obviously had yet to release the spell.

"You fought off Crucio?" Ron asked disbelievingly.

"I guess so," Harry replied as the fight between his counterpart and Voldemort continued.

"I've never read about anyone being able to do that," Hermione added.

"That doesn't mean it's impossible," Harry pointed out.

"Apparently not," Hermione admitted.

Finally, the Harry of the past managed to make the two spells combine and the three of them ducked instinctively when it bounced off the wall behind them. After they recovered, Ron took to watching the ball of light and scratching his ear in a confused sort of way, but Hermione turned immediately to Harry and demanded, "You invented ricochet spells?"

"Is that what they're called now?" Harry asked dismissively as he too tried to trace the spell on its journey around the room. He lost track of it when Hermione smacked his upper arm with the back of her hand.

"Do you know how long I've been trying to invent a spell?"

"No," Harry replied truthfully. "But I'm sure you'll come up with something. Besides, this isn't really a new spell, just a combination of two old ones."

"That's even worse!" Hermione exclaimed, smacking Harry's arm again. "No one had ever managed to do that before. How could you invent an entire line of spells and not tell us?"

"It didn't seem that important at the time," Harry said with a shrug, edging out of arm's reach of Hermione.

"Will you two just watch?" Ron demanded.

Hermione seemed to remember herself and turned back to the duel, but Harry wished she'd gone on abusing him about the spell he'd invented.

The combined spell finally hit home, knocking Voldemort off his guard. Harry started systematically casting every jinx, hex, and curse he knew.

The Harry of the present couldn't help but wonder what he would see when his counterpart finally got to the last spell. Would his eyes flash the same red as Voldemort's? Would they transform, however momentarily, into catlike slits? Harry wasn't sure he could bear to watch, but he couldn't turn away.

"Avada Kedavra!"

And there was nothing. No red eyes, no snake face. Voldemort simply collapsed in a heap as the remaining spells evaporated around him.

For a moment, Harry simply stood over Voldemort, panting slightly, as though he wasn't entirely sure what had just happened, and then he knelt down, pulled his wand out of Voldemort's pocket, and raced back into the other room.

Harry half expected Ron or Hermione to make some astounded comment on how anticlimactic it all seemed, or say that they'd spent the last four and a half months convincing themselves that Harry had used a spell other than Avada Kedavra to finish Voldemort. Instead they kept their silence and followed the other Harry back to Ron and watched as his desperate attempts to help Ron only made matters worse. Finally, Harry simply lifted Ron up and dragged him out of the room.

When Harry finally reached the Entrance Hall, he shouted for help, but there was none to be found. It was as though they were the only two living souls remaining in Hogwarts, and with every passing second it seemed more and more likely that that number would be cut in half.

Finally, Harry gave up and dragged Ron out the front door and into the foggy morning.

The other Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed him outside and watched the situation grow increasingly desperate as Harry dragged Ron to Hogsmeade only to discover that the village was deserted as well.

They could almost see Harry's desperation as he realized the only option he had left. He kneeled down next to Ron, took hold of his arms and Disapparated. A moment later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gently ejected from the Pensieve.

Harry looked at Hermione and realized that she had pulled them out.

"I think I know the rest."


	27. The Price of a Memory

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, stickers, filing cabinets, and forks are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from "Mrs. Potter's Lullaby" by Counting Crows.

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, it means a lot to me.

**Chapter 27: The Price of a Memory**

When Ron and Hermione got finished marveling over the way Harry defeated Voldemort, their attention returned to the true reason they had started this discussion about the final battle: Hermione's memory problem.

"Did any of that sound familiar?" Ron asked.

"Familiar, yes, but it's all just out of reach," Hermione replied, looking frustrated. "None of it seems quite bad enough to make me want to forget it all."

"It's a bit different when you actually remember living it," Harry reminded her.

"What about that patch when we were separated?" Ron said. "The first one."

"Yes, let's see about that," Hermione said.

She closed her eyes to prevent any distractions as Harry and Ron began describing the situation for her.

"There was a small group of Death Eaters at an intersection of two hallways, the one with the portrait of the handsome hag," Harry said, trying hard to reiterate every detail. "It would have taken us half an hour to navigate the closest detour passed them."

"We split up to corner them," Ron continued.

"We agreed to get to our positions and attack them in three minutes," Harry said.

"So we went in," Ron added. "You weren't there, so we figured you got hung up by something. After we took care of the Death Eaters we went to find you…"

"I was running," Hermione said slowly. "I had to take a long detour to get to the corridor from that side. It was dark, I had to light my wand." She got up and started pacing. "I heard something up ahead, so I went to investigate, and then…and…then…"

_The same noise again, much closer now and getting closer still. It wasn't until she could tell that the noises were footsteps that she had the faculty of mind to extinguish her wand light and dodge into the nearest shadow. It didn't seem to help, the footsteps were still getting closer. She had just begun to prepare herself to fight her way out when a hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around. She managed to force back the impending scream and replace it with a "Lumos!" However, the former might have served her better because as soon as their eyes adjusted to the sudden light Lucius Malfoy forced her to turn around once again and held her tightly with her back against his chest and his hand clamped over her mouth. In another swift movement he disarmed her._

"_Hermione Granger," he sneered. "What a surprise."_

_His disgustingly hot breath brushed past her ear and she shivered. Malfoy laughed._

"_You've been a horrible nuisance over the years, Mudblood," he said. "I think its time someone taught you your place in this little world."_

_With that, he began to drag her into a nearby classroom. Hermione wasn't sure what he meant to do when they got there, but she didn't intend to remain long enough to find out. She began kicking and squirming away for all she was worth, but it was mostly useless, his size and strength was so superior to hers that her struggle did little more than slow him down. However, this was all just a front for her true assault, for she had begun thinking a strategic assortment of spells, which, strangely enough, seemed to have no effect whatsoever._

_Finally, when it became obvious that non verbal magic was insufficient, she bit down hard on the fingers covering her mouth. Malfoy yelled in pain and pulled his hand away, and in the few seconds that her mouth was not obscured, Hermione shouted, "Expelliarmus!" There was still no effect._

_It was true that Hermione didn't have a hold of her wand, but she should have been able to work some magic without it. Perhaps Malfoy was maintaining a personal shield charm, but she couldn't spare the concentration to test that hypothesis by attempting magic on something else. Unfortunately, any magic powerful enough to break through the charm itself was more complex than she'd ever managed without a wand. That realized, she redoubled her efforts to hinder him physically._

_Malfoy finally forced her into the classroom and kicked the door shut behind him. He roughly thrust her away from him, exactly the sort of opportunity she'd been hoping for, but before she could put it to use or even regain her balance, he hit her with a full body bind. Unwillingly, her arms and legs snapped to a stiff attention, but her momentum continued to carry her forward. She fell flat on her stomach, hitting her nose and forehead sharply against the hard stone floor. By the time she managed to unfreeze herself, Malfoy had flicked his wand again and lifted her high into the air. Irritably, she thought the countercurse to his spell, but she'd only dropped a few inches before he regained control._

"_Not so clever now, are you?" Malfoy sneered, lifting her wand and twirling it a few times before tossing away in disgust. "You are a freak. You possess the magic that allows you into this world by mere chance and you only gained entrance here because of the charity of Muggle lovers like Dumbledore. You will never truly understand what it means to be a witch. You are lower than the lowliest house elf. At least they understand their place."_

_Hermione crossed her arms defiantly. Sure his words stung a bit, but if he actually expected her to take him seriously then he was deluded._

"_No?" Malfoy asked, watching her. "I can see, then, that a demonstration is in order."_

_With that he lifted his wand, and Hermione rose rapidly to the ceiling. She wasn't quick enough to stop it and her head struck a wood cross beam. Stars swam in front of her eyes._

"_Defend yourself, if you can," Malfoy taunted._

_But Hermione could do nothing, for he'd flipped her upside down and she was too busy choking on the blood that had been streaming out of her nose moments ago. It felt like hours before he flipped her back over, coughing and sputtering. She nearly blacked out when all the blood rushed out of her head, but she forced herself to remain conscious._

"_Well," Malfoy said. "Since you don't seem inclined to defend yourself, maybe you'd like to offer a suggestion about what you'd like to do next. A dance, perhaps."_

_Malfoy flicked his wand again, and Hermione's legs sprang to life, performing what was unmistakably an airborne Irish jig. Unable to stop her legs, Hermione shook her head, attempting to replace her tears of embarrassment with a defiant expression._

"_An impression of a top, then?"_

_As Hermione began to spin faster and faster she wondered vaguely if she was being Imperioused, but dismissed the idea when she realized that she felt none of the displaced calm that usually accompanied that particular unforgivable. Her continued efforts to fight back still had no effect, and her head injury wasn't doing her any favors._

_Finally, she began slowing down, and even though the world seemed to be swimming around her, Hermione could tell that Malfoy had a very strange glint in his eyes._

"_Or something more?"_

_Hermione's hands began to inch unwillingly toward the hem of her shirt. She tried to will them to stop, but it was no use, Malfoy's influence was too strong. She could hardly stand to think of what was about to happen._

"_No," she begged._

_Suddenly, the door to the classroom burst open and the spells were released. As Hermione dropped she saw Harry and Ron chasing Malfoy out of a second door. They didn't seem to notice her. She landed painfully, half on a table, and fell to the floor, where she lay for a few moments gasping for breath and trying to blink the tears out of her eyes. She remained that way for a few seconds, then stood up carefully and retrieved her wand from where Malfoy had thrown it. She was tapping her nose and forehead to stop their bleeding when Harry and Ron returned. They looked surprised to see her._

"_You dueled him?" Ron asked, gesturing to the door behind him._

_Hermione didn't respond. She wasn't at all sure of how to answer that question._

"_Hermione, are you alright?" Harry asked._

"_Yeah, I think so," Hermione lied, gingerly feeling her broken nose._

"Hermione?" Ron asked carefully, touching her arm as her monologue finally faded into silence.

Hermione jumped away. Harry and Ron were looking perfectly horrified at her account, but in that moment she didn't care if they wanted to help her or not.

"Hermione," Ron tried again, taking a step forward.

"No!" Hermione yelled, backing desperately into the wall behind her. Her mind was reeling from what she had just remembered and she couldn't think straight. She wanted to fight, she wanted to cry, she wanted to kick and bite and scream and throw up and die, and the resulting conflict of interest left only one possible option: she forced in one shuddering breath and screamed as loud and as long as she could.

When she could scream no more as slumped against the wall, suddenly feeling as though she'd run a marathon. The cool wall felt good against her hot skin. She ached all over, as though every cut and bruise she'd received during the incident had suddenly erupted anew. She could almost taste the blood in her mouth.

Harry and Ron glanced at each other, completely at a loss for what to do.

"It's alright," Ron said, using what he hoped were his most soothing tones. "It's over now, you're-"

"Stay away!" Hermione yelled.

"We can help you, Hermione," Ron replied, backing up a step.

"You can't!" Hermione exclaimed. "Only-" Sudden realization etched itself across her face and she pulled out her wand, pointing it at her own temple.

"Ahh!" Ron stammered, and Harry pulled out his own wand and disarmed her.

"No!" Hermione screamed.

"We're you're friends," Ron said. "You can trust us."

"You weren't there," Hermione cried. "I couldn't do anything and you weren't there."

"We're sorry," Harry said. "We didn't know or we would have gotten there sooner."

"Let us help you now," Ron offered. "Tell us what to do."

"You wouldn't understand," Hermione cried.

"Then make us," Ron said.

"No," Hermione replied. It was as though she was slowly being drained of energy.

Ron gave a desperate look to Harry who responded with a sympathetic nod. He would never repeat anything that Ron was about to say.

"Hermione, I love you."

It was the first time he had ever made such a confession, but the result was far from what he'd expected. Instead of calming down, Hermione recoiled ever further into the wall.

"You can't," she cried.

"Yes, I can," Ron replied, a little confused.

"No you can't, not really," Hermione said, tears running down her face. "I'm…" she cast around momentarily for the right word "…a Mudblood."

"Don't call yourself that," Ron said. "And when has that ever mattered to me?"

"It does matter," Hermione cried. "You know it does."

"No it doesn't," Ron maintained. "You're a hundred times as magical as Malfoy could ever hope to be, but I'd love you even if you were a squib."

"I'm not magical," Hermione continued. "I'm just…useless."

"Hermione," Ron said, "after my arm got hurt you treated me like everything was still normal, even though my own family wouldn't even look me in the eye. Now it's my turn. We can make this better. All you need to do is let me in."

For a moment, everything hung in the balance. Harry and Ron watched as Hermione desperately tried to come up with a reason why she ought to be ostracized from society or be allowed to erase her memory again. Then she broke.

"Help me," she cried.

Ron rushed forward and grabbed Hermione into a hug just as she was falling to her knees. She clung to him desperately as though he was the only thing standing in between her and the memories that threatened to consume her.

Ron looked completely lost.

"What do we do?" he asked.

"I don't know," Harry stammered. "Go get help, maybe."

"Ginny," Ron said.

"Sydney," Harry said simultaneously.

"Both," Ron confirmed.

"I'll go," Harry offered, turning to go.

"Tell me you got this guy," Ron said, watching Harry leave, as Hermione sobbed miserably into his shoulder. "Just tell me you got him."

"I got him," Harry replied as he left. All the guilt he felt about killing Lucius Malfoy had evaporated. Now he just wished he'd made it more painful.

However, Harry only made it a few steps away from the portrait hole before he started laughing insanely. It wasn't because anything was funny, because, indeed, nothing was, but in that moment it was all he could do. It seemed as though whatever power decided the fates of men had it in for everyone Harry ever dared to get close to: his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin, Ron, Fred, and now Hermione. The more Harry tired to stop the harder he laughed, and he hoped that Ron and Hermione couldn't hear him.

Additionally, Harry and Ron had always had an unspoken agreement concerning Hermione: to protect her against those who would try to hurt her. In return, she guaranteed that they never failed a class, something which took much more effort. It was a good arrangement for them, but one they never discussed with her, for they knew she would object. Besides, since Hermione was better at keeping herself out of trouble than Harry and Ron, she usually spent more time bailing them out than the other way around. There had been a few slipups on the Wizards' end, but it seemed that this time they had finally failed her utterly. All of a sudden, Harry felt that he understood why Sirius had started laughing when Pettigrew blew up the street and framed him for betraying the Potters to Voldemort.

Sometime while he was laughing, the bell had rung, dismissing students for lunch, so it was lucky that the hallway leading to the substitute teacher's quarters was relatively secluded. Still, when the fit subsided, Harry looked up and saw Luna Lovegood standing nearby. Her expression was as dreamy as ever, but Harry supposed she must have been curious about his behavior or else she wouldn't have hung around.

"Hi Luna," Harry began awkwardly.

"I wouldn't mind hearing a joke," she replied without preamble.

"It wasn't really a joke," Harry said, straightening up. It was just irony on a grand cosmic scale.

"Oh," Luna sighed, she looked a little disappointed. Harry was considering making a joke up for her benefit even though he was hardly in the mood, but she started meandering away first.

"Wait," Harry called. "Can you do me a favor?"

She stopped walking and examined a nearby statue instead, which Harry hoped meant yes. "Could you go find Ginny and tell her we need her in the substitute teachers' quarters. It's behind that picture of Bertie Bott. The password is Grindelwald."

Luna nodded and continued on her way. Harry watched her leave with some apprehension. She had proven herself perfectly capable of completing tasks whether her mind was in a cloud or not, but that didn't stop it from being disconcerting when she seemed to barely listen to instructions. Harry often caught himself speaking slower than usual in her presence.

Harry had more important things to do than worry if Luna would actually do as he'd requested, such as find Sydney and Michael. They had him at a grave disadvantage, for he'd let them borrow the Marauder's Map.


	28. Hang on to Me and I'lll Hang on to You

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, critters, bathrobes, and websites are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from "The Sea" by Carbon Leaf.

Author's Note: This chapter resurrects a subplot, that, unfortunately hasn't been seen or heard from since chapter 12. I know that leaving the subplot for so long wasn't really the best thing to do, because you probably forget what happened, but there really wasn't a way to continue it while the gang was away from Hogwarts. Anyway, if you need it, I'll just remind you what happened here:

When they first arrived at Hogwarts, Michael and Sydney happened upon a series of clues that seemed to be leading them to a Rambaldi artifact. Rambaldi is a 14th century prophet from the Alias universe whose inventions have become of interest to the Alias characters because they are very powerful and seem to hold some meaning of life answers. Hermione revealed a while back that Rambaldi was actually a wizard who happened to spend some time at Hogwarts, prompting Sydney to begin a quest for any artifacts he might have left in the school so she could make sure that they wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. Skip ahead to just after the first mission to Malfoy Manor, when Harry, Hermione, and Sydney decided to leave Hogwarts. While retrieving Hedwig from the owlery, Sydney happened upon the picture of Sir Cadogan, who identified her as the Chosen One of the Alias universe and led her to a strange door that only she could open. The room inside contained a large mechanical puzzle that she didn't have a chance to try and complete at the time.

**Chapter 28: Hang on to Me and I'll Hang on to You**

"How far away is this place?" Michael asked as they rounded yet another corner. He and Sydney had managed to convince the CIA that their services would be needed at Hogwarts for a few days longer and they were using the time to continue their search for Rambaldi's artifacts.

"We're almost there," Sydney assured him, consulting the Marauder's Map. "Here it is." She pointed at the door Sir Cadogan had shown her.

"Where?" Michael asked.

"Here," Sydney said, finding it difficult to believe that Michael couldn't see a door that was right in front of him.

"It's just wall here," Michael replied, giving her a strange look.

Sydney sighed. "The picture that led me here said that only the Chosen One could open it, maybe no one else can even see it."

"But you're not the Chosen One," Michael stammered. "We proved it."

Sydney pulled the door open. "It seems like we didn't."

"Guess not," Michael breathed as the open door appeared in front of him and they stepped into the puzzle room.

"I think we're supposed to build a steam engine," Sydney said, gesturing at the materials in front of them. It had taken her several hours of careful thought over the past few days to reach that conclusion, but she was delighted when she did, for they knew how to build an engine and it would only take them a few hours to do.

"A steam engine with wheels," Michael agreed after studying the pieces for a minute. "Let's go."

They pulled out the tools they'd brought and got to work. Building the engine was simple enough, but when it was completed and nothing happened they knew that they'd have to make the thing run. This begged the question of a power source. Water was waiting in a tub at the edge of the room, but there was no wood or coal or any other device obviously intended to heat it.

Sydney and Michael sat down with the remaining materials between them, wishing that Marshall, the CIA's technology expert, had come with them because he'd probably already developed the same technology a year ago. Some experimentation yielded promising results; when two of the materials touched they started sparking, and if one of those sparks touched a third substance it would instantly glow red hot. However, no amount of trial and error gave any hints about how to cool off the heating material, so they had to wait until its temperature dropped naturally, and then loaded everything they needed into the appropriate parts of the engine.

Finally, Michael momentarily touched the two sparking materials together and then they both retreated to the farthest corner of the room while the engine whirled into life. It raced forward and crashed into the wall, denting its own front end and rattling the barricade. It recoiled and shot off in another direction then repeated the process. When it hit a third wall the impact ruptured the water tank and the engine could no longer move even though it was still hot. However, Sydney and Michael weren't horrified at their engine's suicide, but awestruck at what it had done to the wall. Bricks had been knocked free in several places, the most being from where the engine had impacted the wall, beyond which a small crawl space was visible. Investigations of the other gaps revealed sturdy ropes, wedges, and loops which looked like they could function as carabineers.

"Looks like we're going climbing," Michael said as they organized the equipment.

"Spelunking, maybe," Sydney replied, gazing into the empty cavern.

They tied their longest rope loosely around the engine so they could yank it free if they needed to, then climbed into the crawl space, letting the rope trail out behind them.

The tunnel was pitch black, reminding Michael unpleasantly of their air ducts in Malfoy Manor, and making them both wish their supplies had included a flashlight. Nevertheless, they thought that they were making progress until they ran into a length of their own rope stretching out along a hallway perpendicular to theirs. Up until that point they hadn't realized they'd even changed directions. Sydney had to double back to conserve the rope, then they continued on in the same direction that they'd been going.

Soon they were so confused that they could never have found their way out without the rope, but they were quickly running out of slack. If they didn't end up where they were supposed to be soon they would have to sacrifice one of their climbing ropes, go back, or abandon their lead rope. Finally, they rounded a corner and found that the next stretch of tunnel was dimly illuminated and got brighter as they progressed down it. They reached the end of the rope and let it go just before the tunnel ended abruptly in a steep drop off. Sydney poked her head out and discovered the sky above and a platform about five meters below, surrounded by tall walls on each side.

A sturdy looking gargoyle extended from the wall on one side of the tunnel, so Sydney tied the last rope to it then repelled down to the platform. Michael followed as soon as she reached the floor. Even though it was only just past midday, the surrounding walls were so high that the entire platform was cast into shadows.

Michael looked around but didn't see anything particularly noteworthy, not that he'd expected to. Sydney, however, seemed highly interested in something.

"What can you see that I can't?"

"Another door," Sydney replied.

"Lead the way," Michael said with a shrug.

Sydney stepped forward and opened up the door. As soon as they were inside the next room it was clear that this was the place they'd been searching for all along.

The torches that lined the walls ignited of their own accord, illuminating an immense machine in the middle of the room. Piles of Rambali's manuscripts were scattered around and Sydney went to the nearest one and sifted through it until she found a page covered in illustrations. All of Rambaldi's writing was in code, but she gathered from the pictures that the device was designed to take in raw materials and create anything. Several other pages seemed to confirm this hypothesis.

Curious, Sydney located a likely looking parchment and showed it to Michael, who looked at it dismissively at first, then paid it much more attention as soon as the purpose of the substance depicted became clear.

"There are no coincidences," Michael whispered, awestruck.

"What?" Sydney asked.

"Something Ron said once," Michael explained. "This looks like a healing potion to you, right?"

"Yes," Sydney agreed cautiously.

"Then try it out!" Michael commanded.

Sydney would have liked to argue that a bit more experimentation might have been in order before they actually turned the thing on, but it was clear that Michael was not to be dissuaded. She slid the parchment into a likely looking slot in the side of the machine and it whirled into life. After much smoking and spinning, a large liquid filled vial was deposited down a chute.

"Can you imagine the applications of this?" Michael asked as he picked up the vial and examined it. "This could put an end to assembly lines and increase the quality of life around the world. Engineers could just put their designs into this and have a working product instantly!"

Sydney, however, imagined that the use of this device would be quite different. She could almost see thousands of weapons streaming out of it.

"We have to destroy this," Sydney said. "I didn't bring any C-4, did you?"

"Destroy it?" Michael stammered. "But what about…"

"We have to make sure that it doesn't fall into the wrong hands," Sydney interrupted. "We've both broken into enough high security lockups to know that nowhere is impenetrable."

"Nobody but us knows this exists," Michael said. "It's hard to find what you're not looking for."

"We found it," Sydney reminded him. "Do you have any C-4 or not?"

"I don't," Michael replied.

"Then we can use it to make some," Sydney said, grabbing paper and a quill and sketching out the atomic makeup of her preferred explosive.

"I don't think that's the way to do this," Michael sighed.

"Do you want Sloane to find it?" Sydney demanded.

"Of course not."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Sydney, we're in a school!" Michael exclaimed. "For all we know there could be a classroom next door. We don't know what makes this thing work. It could cause a secondary explosion big enough to vaporize the entire castle!"

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Sydney asked.

"Leave it here," Michael replied, "put all the clues back but hide them a little better…"

"What!"

"Sydney, you've been so obsessed with finding this thing that you forgot what it took to get here," Michael said. "Wizards aren't interested in Rambaldi, Harry and Ron proved that, and even if they were, they don't need this thing to create what they want. Hogwarts is one of the most well protected places on the entire planet, especially against Muggles. Sloane wouldn't be able to get more than ten feet inside the castle. You had to be in the right place to hear the Morse code, then we had to figure out how to work that room on the seventh floor. It was a fluke that we found the brick with the poem and even more of one that you found that crazy knight, not to mention the two doors that only you could see. This has been hidden here for five hundred years, and if we don't say anything about it then maybe no one will ever find it again."

Sydney looked for a moment like she wanted to argue the point, to say that Rambaldi made it so she was the only person who could find this place, so he must have thought she'd know what to do with it, but she loathed using Rambaldi's prophecies as an argument in this debate, and Michael's words made a lot of sense.

"Alright," she sighed, "but we're going to be really thorough about hiding the clues again."

To Michael's surprise, instead of insisting that he leave behind the potion the machine had created, Sydney allowed him to pocket it, saying, "For Ron, maybe it can help him. We owe them that much."

They checked to make sure that Michael couldn't see the door from the outside then climbed back up to the tunnel and followed the rope back to the puzzle room where they replaced all the bricks in the wall and disassembled the already ruined steam engine.

They started making their way back to the mysterious room on the seventh floor, intending to replace the box that Sydney had discovered in the lost and found room. Their first attempt to seal the box with the eye of Rambaldi on the inside had just failed when Harry caught up with them.

"Sydney!" he panted, showing signs that he'd been running for some time. "We need your help."

"What's wrong?" Sydney asked. Something must have gone very bad for Harry to not only search the entire castle for her but do it at a run.

"We figured out why Hermione erased her memory," Harry explained. "Lucius Malfoy got her alone and started controlling and humiliating her during the battle against the Voldemort…"

"What!" Sydney demanded.

"Yeah," Harry said with a shudder. "Ron and I got there just in time to stop him from doing anything terrible. We didn't even realize what we rescued her from. Anyway, Ron managed to calm her down, but she's in rough shape and we don't really know what to do. We were hoping you might."

"I don't really know either," Sydney admitted, but she broke into a sprint. Harry followed her, explaining exactly what had happened as they went.

Harry, Sydney, and Michael entered the substitute teacher's common room to find Ron, and Ginny sitting on the sofa in front of the fire with Hermione between them. The two Weasleys looked happy to see the newcomers.

Hermione looked somehow diminished, as though she had put on robes that were a few sizes too big for her. She appeared to be asleep, her legs curled into her chest and her head on Ron's shoulder, but her actual state of consciousness was betrayed whenever she tensed up suddenly and squeezed her eyes shut, causing a few more tears to leak out.

Sydney kneeled in front of Hermione. The witch tried to cringe away but had nowhere to go.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Sydney asked. It was a stupid question, but she had to start somewhere.

Hermione tried to nod, but a second later she was shaking her head.

"This isn't your fault, you know," Sydney continued. "This should never happen to anyone, but especially not you."

Sydney paused to allow Hermione time to respond, but she didn't, so Sydney kept talking.

"I know you're probably scared and angry right now, but no one is going to hurt you here, we all just want to help."

Again Hermione didn't answer.

"What Malfoy did to you is despicable," Sydney tried, "but that doesn't change who you are."

"It does," Hermione said quietly. Her voice was shaky and hoarse. "I couldn't do anything. I tried to fight back, but he was too strong. He took my wand. Nothing I knew helped. I don't want to feel like that again."

"I can teach you if you'd like," Sydney offered. "There are ways to fight back without magic, maybe it could have helped."

"I've seen a few," Hermione replied. She looked like she was trying to smile, but a few more tears leaked out instead.

"Would you like to learn them?" Sydney asked.

"Yes, please," Hermione said, finally sitting up and using her sleeves to wipe the tears off her cheeks.

"Why did you do it?" Ron ventured. "We could have helped you, just like we're doing now. You didn't need to wipe your memories."

"Yes I did," Hermione whispered. "You were hurt, Harry had just killed Voldemort. The two of you couldn't have helped me any more than I could have helped you if I'd kept my memories. One of us needed to stay the same more than I needed to remember."

A stunned silence followed Hermione's words. Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever heard of a more selfless act.


	29. Don't Look Back in Anger

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, in-jokes, jargon, and secret codes are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from "Don't Look Back in Anger" by Oasis.

**Chapter 29: Don't Look Back in Anger**

Hermione spent that night in the hospital wing and got a good night's sleep with the help of the Draught of Dreamless Sleep. Over the next few days she spent most of her time either crying, sleeping, or learning to fight without magic from Sydney, and almost none of her time eating, at least until the others noticed and started forcing her down to the Great Hall at every meal. Gradually, her spirits improved as she came to accept what had happened to her and move on from it. Eventually, she even took the initiative herself to reintegrate into normal society, although she still tended to set herself on the defensive when older men were around.

"How've you been, Ron?" Michael asked carefully after finding the wizard alone in the substitute teacher's common room a few days after Hermione got her memories back.

"Hermione's the one we should be worried about," Ron replied, not looking away from the blazing fire in the fireplace.

"Sydney's with her," Michael said.

"I know," Ron muttered.

Michael watched Ron roll his wand between his hands for a moment, considering his options. Finally, he said, "Fred was your brother."

"Oh really? I'd forgotten," Ron snapped, finally turning to face Michael.

"It's just that, with everything Hermione's going through, we seem to be ignoring you," Michael explained.

"Suits me fine," Ron said, turning back to the fire.

"Ron-" Michael started.

"What?" Ron demanded, whirling back around. "Am I just supposed to tell you everything? Will that magically make everything better again?"

"It wouldn't hurt," Michael maintained, watching helplessly as Ron returned his attention to the fire.

"I can't fall apart over this right now," Ron said slowly. "Hermione needs me."

"From the sound of it, she had a similar idea," Michael pointed out. "Look where it got her."

"You were there when she said why she did it, weren't you?" Ron asked accusingly.

Michael faltered. "Yes, I was," he finally replied. "And I don't want to belittle her sacrifice, but I just wonder if things would have gone different if she'd known she had other options."

"Probably," Ron admitted.

Unable to conjure a response, Michael allowed the conversation to fall into silence. He watched as Ron resumed rolling his wand between his palms, marveling at how much more sure of himself the wizard looked now that he had that small tool back in his possession. How many times during their capture had he said he was no use without a wand? And how many times had he proven himself wrong. Wandless or not, Ron was a lot more help than he tended to give himself credit for.

"Thanks," Ron said suddenly.

Michael looked up from his musings to find that Ron had turned around to face him once again.

"For what?"

"For being there when we were captured," Ron replied.

"Well, it wasn't like I had much choice in the matter," Michael pointed out with a shrug.

"Thanks for the question game," Ron continued.

"We had nothing better to do," Michael replied.

"For insisting that we try to find a way to escape," Ron added.

"I'm just glad that worked out," Michael admitted.

"You don't understand," Ron said. "I had no idea what to do. If it had been just me I don't know what would have happened. I might've told them anything they wanted to hear."

"I don't think you would have," Michael interjected.

"My point is, with you there, it was almost alright."

"You helped me too," Michael replied after a pause. "I said it before; it's not often that I get captured with someone to talk to."

"Oh," Ron stammered. "Well, you're welcome."

"You too," Michael replied.

The conversation one again faded into silence until, all of a sudden, Ron jumped to his feet and exclaimed, "It's just not fair!"

"That we got captured?" Michael asked, confused.

"No, Fred," Ron clarified.

Michael bit back a response as he watched Ron begin to pace.

"I mean, why him?" Ron continued. "Out of everyone who went into Malfoy Manor that night, why did it have to be him? He was a good fighter, he could have been better than me. All he ever wanted to do was run his joke shop, he didn't even live long enough to see a world where people have time to laugh again.

"But I'm not sad for Fred, I can't figure out why. I miss him, but I'm sad for my parents and my brothers and Ginny. I'm sad for George, I can barely even imagine what it's like to be him right now. It's like he lost a part of himself, like I did when that curse hit my arm, but Fred is never coming back, not even a little bit. I don't think George has looked in a mirror since Fred died. I'm not sure he can, but that's not the worst of it. You were at the funeral, you've seen how people act around him. He can't even walk through a door without everyone in the room thinking he's Fred, back from the dead. Then when they realize it's really George, they look so sad, like they're disappointed to see him. And everyone does it, even Mum and Dad. Especially Mum and Dad."

"They just need time to get used to Fred not being around," Michael sighed.

"And everyone treats him different on top of that," Ron said, "like he's got some contagious disease all of a sudden. I know what that's like, and so do you. All he really wants is someone to treat him like they did before, just one person. Hermione was that person for me after my arm, Sydney made sure we were those people for the two of you…"

"And you can be that person for George," Michael suggested.

Ron stopped pacing at this. "I suppose I can," he breathed. "I can try, at least."

"That's the spirit," Michael said encouragingly. He allowed Ron a moment to bask in this revelation, then added, "Do you have some spare time right now?"

"Sure," Ron replied with a shrug, still smiling. "What do you need?"

"I was wondering if you would come down to the Hospital Wing with me," Michael replied.

"What! Why?" Ron demanded. "Is something wrong? Why didn't you tell say so before?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Michael said. "This is actually about your arm."

"What about it?" Ron asked.

"I think I might have found something that could help," Michael explained, pulling the vial of potion he'd gotten from the Rambaldi machine from his pocket. "I thought Madame Pomphrey might know what to do with it."

"Really?" Ron asked, examining the vial. "Where did you get it?"

"That's kind of a long story," Michael began, "but-"

"Wait," Ron commanded. "In that case, save it until we get there, that way you won't have to tell it twice."

"So you'll give it a try, then?" Michael asked excitedly.

"Of course!" Ron exclaimed. "If there's a chance it'll help then I'm willing."

As Ron predicted, when they arrived at the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomphrey insisted on hearing everything there was to know about where the potion came from. When Michael finished, she performed every test for poisons and dark magic know to wizard kind, apparently convinced that fifteenth century Seers who leave dodgy potion making machines in rooms that no one can find weren't very reliable sources of healing magic.

Still not looking quite convinced, Madame Pomphrey poured a bit of the potion onto a rag and dabbed it onto Ron's right arm. When Ron said that this method had no effect, she scowled, summoned a bezoar from the potions stores, and gave the potion to Ron to drink. He drained the vial in a single mouthful then reported that it tasted like cherries.

Ron didn't move for several minutes, then, finally, he brought his right arm up in front of his face and studied it with a bemused expression.

"Is anything happening?" Michael asked, concerned.

"Tingling," Ron replied thoughtfully.

"Does it hurt?" Michael pressed.

"No more than when it gets stiff," Ron explained, "but it's going away."

"It's getting better?" Michael said.

"Yeah," Ron replied, finally looking up. "It's getting better!"

Ten minutes later, the potion had run its course, and, while Ron said that his arm wasn't quite back to normal, he also added that "its better than it used to be, and much better than I could have hoped for."

A triumphant looking Madame Pomphrey released the excited wizard a few minutes later.

"How do you feel?" Michael asked.

"How do you think?" Ron replied, an impish gleam in his eye.

"How would I know?" Michael maintained.

"How can I even describe it?" Ron said.

"What do you think Hermione will do when you tell her?" Michael asked.

"Wouldn't Sydney do about the same thing?" Ron replied.

"Kiss me until I can't breathe?" Michael asked, eyes narrowing.

"You do realize that you and Sydney are like my Aunt and Uncle?" Ron said, cringing.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Michael replied, looking surprised but honored.

"Would you like to hear about your Aunt and Uncle snogging?" Ron pointed out.

"Wouldn't you rather hear about that than your Mum and Dad snogging?" Michael said impishly.

"Why did you have to tell me that?" Ron exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air.

"Because I'm trying to trick you into not asking a…damn!" Michael swore, realizing what he'd just done. "243 to 501, your lead."

"We were playing best out of a thousand, right?" Ron asked. "So that's it, then, I win?"

Michael nodded. "I should have quit while I was ahead."

"You were never ahead."

-----------------------

Over the next few days, Sydney and Michael spent most of their free time replacing all of the clues to the Rambaldi device. They remained convinced that taking them back to the CIA or hiding them someplace else would only work against them in the long run, for Rambaldi's hiding spots were tried and true, but they still tried to conceal them well enough to prevent someone else from finding them. As an added precaution, Sydney located the branch that had tapped out the original Morse code message and ripped if off the tree.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were shocked when the Muggles announced that they had to leave Hogwarts in a few days, having received orders to return to the CIA soon after they completed their mission, and they couldn't go on ignoring them for much longer. It was a parting of the ways that none of them were looking forward to. They might have had their differences and only known each other for a short amount of time, but fighting had accelerated things. Now, each group had become a part of the other. They understood each other, depended on each other, and the idea of losing that companionship was difficult to accept.

However, while the group celebrated Ron and Hermione's recoveries and lamented Sydney and Michael's departures, Harry found himself unable to join in. In fact, as his friends came to terms with their pasts, Harry forced himself to become increasingly distant, for he had realized something: intentionally or not, he brought misery to other people's lives. He could no longer do that to his friends.

-----------------------

"Sydney?" Harry asked, "could I talk to you for a minute?" He'd spent the better part of the afternoon looking for her, but he suspected it might have taken less time if he wasn't constantly talking himself out of starting this conversation. Harry supposed that if he'd really thought about it he would have checked the library first. The battle might be over, but Sydney had never erased her habit of spending time in the library, reading all the books about wizards that she could find.

"Of course," Sydney replied, curious about why Harry had even bothered to ask. Ordinarily, he would just start talking to her.

"In private," Harry stammered.

Their location in the library was far from secluded, but they were the only people around, which was usually good enough. Sensing that an important and delicate conversation was about to ensue, Sydney led him to the Room of Requirement and summoned the door. They stepped into an inviting room with a table, two chairs, and two steaming mugs, one filled with tea and the other with hot cocoa.

Sydney locked the door, sat down, and picked up the cocoa. Harry followed, but he didn't touch his drink.

He looked utterly without the courage it would take to start whatever conversation he had in mind, so Sydney said, "What's up?"

"How do you handle it?" Harry blurted out.

"Handle what?" Sydney asked, wishing that she could have given a better response now that Harry had opened up.

"Everything, your job, fighting evil people for a living," Harry replied. "Ron, Hermione and I are falling apart, but you and Michael seem so normal."

"Michael and I are good actors, nothing more," Sydney replied.

"But there must be some things you can't act," Harry pressed. "Don't you ever just feel like you'd do anything to make it all go away."

"That's what we are doing," Sydney said gently.

"Oh," Harry stammered, looking downcast.

"We also know how to get help when we need it, mostly," Sydney added.

"But what about killing people?" Harry demanded. "I mean, how do you…" He trailed off when he saw the look on Sydney's face.

"Oh, Harry," Sydney stammered uncomfortably, "I thought you knew, I've never…"

"You've never killed anyone," Harry finished. His expression was impossible to read, but he'd started shaking uncontrollably.

"I was trained to incapacitate opponents by non lethal means," Sydney explained. "I've been the direct cause of deaths, but I've never actually pulled the trigger myself."

"But you can see the thestrals," Harry said. He spoke so quietly that Sydney had to read his lips to understand him.

"I've seen people die," Sydney confirmed. "You said that's all it took."

"I'm sorry I bothered you," Harry said, jumping up and heading for the door.

"Wait," Sydney called, getting up as well.

Harry cringed but paused, his hand gripping the doorknob.

"We're almost the same, you and I," Sydney said desperately. "We could have lived each other's lives and things might have worked out the same. I might not have killed anyone, but I still understand you. So what did you want to say? I might still be able to help you."

Harry turned back to her and said, "Keep it that way."

"What?" Sydney asked, unsure of what Harry was referring to.

"You said you've never killed a person," Harry clarified. "Don't ever, not if you can help it. I can barely live with myself, knowing what I've done, knowing that the only difference between me and the Death Eaters is honor, whatever that means. The worst part isn't seeing it happen over and over whenever I close my eyes; it's knowing that if I ever kill someone again, it will be easier. It was with Malfoy."

"I've wanted to tell you since we met," Sydney exclaimed as Harry opened the door. "This isn't all there is to life, you could have it easier than this if you just let yourself."

"Creating a Horcrux isn't the part that splits a person's soul," Harry said. Then he left.

-----------------------

The morning he and Sydney were to leave, Michael was startled awake by a panicked yelp from across the room. He jumped up, prepared to defend himself against all comers, but found only Ron sitting on his bed and clutching at his chest as he stared at a piece of paper in his hand.

"You alright?" Michael asked.

"Yeah," Ron gasped. "It's just, Harry left this, and at the beginning it sounds kind of like a…a…" but he couldn't bring himself to say it. "Just come over and read this."

Michael sat down next to Ron, who held the note so they could both see it.

_To Everyone:_

_By the time you read this I will be gone. I'm not sure where I'm going or if it will be better than here, but I can't stay here any longer. Please don't come looking for me._

_I want you to know that I care about you very much. That's why I must leave. Trouble seems to follow me wherever I go and I can no longer stand it when my friends put themselves between it and me. Please understand that I left because I know that you will be happier without me there, just like I know that you didn't believe me when you read that._

_I'm not sure when I'll come back, or even if I ever will, so know that the key to my vault in Gringotts is in my trunk, please help yourselves to it if you ever again fall on hard times. I've also left Hedwig behind, I know Errol deserves to retire, and if you ever have need of me she'll know how to find me._

_Take care of each other._

_Love,_

_Harry._

When Michael was about half way through the letter Ron's hand started shaking so badly that he could barely make out Harry's words. He'd stretched out a hand to help steady the paper only to discover that his efforts only made the effect worse. It took them a full minute after they finished reading to realize that the next logical step would be to show the note to Hermione and Sydney.

-----------------------

The sun had only just risen to the familiar chorus of birds when Harry let himself out of Hogwarts and into the chilled air of the early morning. As he walked, his feet disturbed the frost covered ground, leaving a clear trail behind him. His pack was filled with extra clothes, food from the kitchens, money, and a few items of sentimental value. His Firebolt was slung over his shoulder. Missing from his possessions was the Marauder's Map, which he'd snuck back into the Confiscated and Highly Dangerous file in Filch's office for the next group of mischief makers to find and solemnly swear that they were up to no good.

He was a lot less sure about his desire to leave than he'd made it sound in his note, but the fact was that he needed to leave to save his friends from the hardship that followed him everywhere, and he needed to leave before he managed to convince himself otherwise. There was, however, one last thing he needed to do.

Since it was built on the grounds of his beloved school, Dumbledore's tomb was never lacking in flowers and other tributes from the students and teachers, but as Harry approached, he pulled out what could quite possibly be the strangest trinket the grave had ever seen: a pair of thick wooly socks. It seemed like a pathetic thanks for everything Dumbledore had done over the years, but it was all that Harry could think of. Years ago, just after Christmas, Dumbledore had revealed that his heart's desire was a pair of socks, not the piles of books he always received at that time of year. Harry had always suspected that he'd been lying at the time, but now it seemed that the story had been rather close to the truth. Instead of knowledge, which Dumbledore had in abundance, all he really wanted was something to keep his feet warm in increasingly dark and cold times. It hadn't occurred to Harry that he could be the only person who knew of this desire and thus the only person who could help him find these socks, even though it was much too late now. It had taken Harry nearly eight years to figure out just how important a pair of socks could be. Now he felt as if he could do with a pair himself.

Harry located an open space on the tomb and deposited his gift there, then backed away respectfully, his glasses a little foggier than they'd been before.

It was strange, sifting through his memories now that his own brain had stopped forcing him to at every opportunity, although he was still plagued by flashback from time to time. If he went back far enough, Dumbledore was there again, alive and well, if tainted by Harry's knowledge that when he flipped further forward Dumbledore would suddenly cease to exist. Backwards he was there, forwards he wasn't, and every time Harry went into his past to visit, it was a little more difficult to return to the present, where there were voids for all of them; his parents, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin, Fred…

Harry snapped out of his reverie. The rest of the castle was waking up, Ron or Michael might have already found the note and any minute all four of them would come racing outside to try and stop him. Eight people dead was far too many, one person was far too many, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he waited around long enough for that number to become nine. Since the darkness of the world was never going to stop searching for him, the only way he could be sure that no one else would stand between him and it was if he removed himself from society. The last great performance of the famous Harry Potter, in which he shall vanish forthwith, leaving no trace behind.

Finally, Harry did something he'd wanted to try for a long time: he cast his bag and broomstick aside and spun around in a circle. Faster and faster he went, until his surroundings looked like nothing more than a blur. Blood rushed painfully to his fingertips so he pulled his arms in to his chest and spun faster still. Finally, when he felt he could carry on no longer, Harry stopped spinning, but the world did not. Slightly queasy, Harry struggled to keep his feet as he gazed blearily at what he was facing: Hogwarts. He didn't mind the idea of flying over his old school one last time at all. In fact, he couldn't have chosen a better direction if he'd tried. Still feeling far too dizzy to fly, Harry staggered back to his belongings, slung his bag over his shoulder, boarded his broom, and took to the air, intending to fly in a straight ling for as long as it suited him. A moment later he was nothing more than a black spec against the grey sky.

Harry didn't know what new adventures would find him, he didn't even know if he would be over an ocean when he became so exhausted that he had to stop, and at that point he didn't particularly care. However, he did know that his friends wouldn't understand why he'd left, especially not at first, but he hoped they'd come to accept it. He might even come back some day, after it was safe, but whether it was after a month or ten years, he was sadly convinced that friends would be removed to acquaintances and things would never be the same between them. It was the price he had to pay to ensure that they would never again have to face the horrors that came with befriending Harry Potter. This way they all could carry on.

-----------------------

-----------------------

Author's Note: You observant readers have probably noticed that this chapter sounded a lot like an ending, and you're sort of almost right, but there's a big difference between mostly over and all over. After this I have four epilogues to tie up any remaining loose ends and give the story a proper send off, and when the story is really over I'll make sure you know it. Don't worry, I'm not mean enough to leave you hanging on a note like that for evermore.


	30. Scheming Demons Dressed in Kingly Guise

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, dish towels, trash bags, and dinner plates are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from "A Farewell to Kings" by Rush.

**Epilogue 1: Scheming Demons Dressed in Kingly Guise**

"I'd like to thank you for a job well done," Minister Randall said, pacing behind his desk in the Ministry of Magic and only looking at the assembled group as often as was necessary to maintain the impression that he was actually talking to them. "You brought those Death Eaters to justice far faster than anyone could have hoped."

Ron, Hermione, Sydney, and Michael shot exacerbated looks at each other as they waited for him to get to the point.

"Well you don't seem very happy about it," Randall said, sounding indignant as he finally stopped to stare at them.

"My brother died, or didn't you hear," Ron snapped.

"Oh, yes, that was unfortunate," Randall replied, resuming his pacing.

"Sure was," Hermione said coolly as she and Michael grabbed Ron's arms to prevent him from attacking the Minister.

"Mr. Potter is nearly fifteen minutes late," Randall muttered, glancing at his watch.

Even Ron paused at the mention of Harry.

"I don't think he's coming," Hermione said quietly.

"I'm not sure I blame him," Sydney added. "What exactly are we doing here?"

"Yes, well," Randall stammered, twiddling his wand. "I wanted to assure you that we have tightened security in Azkaban. The remaining Death Eaters will not be able to escape."

"I hope so," Ron spat.

"You might find that we won't be so willing to do your work for you if there is a next time," Hermione added.

Randall began twirling his wand even faster. Apparently, he had no doubt in the sincerity of Hermione's ultimatum.

"I suppose there is only one thing left to do, then," Randall said. "Miss Bristow, Mr. Vaughn, you have been instrumental to the success of this endeavor even though the affairs of the magical world were of no concern to you."

"It's our job to put an end to the bad people in the world," Sydney replied.

"I understand you will be taking a…a," Randall trailed off uncertainly.

"Plane?" Michael offered.

"Yes! You'll be taking a plane back to America tonight," Randall finished.

"That's correct," Sydney said.

"You have seen much of the magical world during your time here." Randall started slowly, but gained momentum. "I'm afraid I cannot risk allowing you to go back to the Muggle world with such knowledge."

His hand tightened around his wand, an action that was echoed a bit more stealthily by Ron and Hermione.

"Therefore," Randall continued, "I'm afraid neither of you will be leaving this room until you've had your memories of your time here completely erased. Obliviate!"

Randall, however, seemed to have forgotten who he was dealing with. He hadn't even finished saying the spell before Ron and Hermione jumped in front of the pair of Muggles and cast shield charms over all of them.

As soon as the spells had dissipated, Hermione lunged forward, yelling, "Is this your way of thanking them for saving your sorry self from the Death Eaters? By taking away their memories? They've already had their anti-Muggle repelling charms removed, there's no way they can get back into the Wizarding world."

"The Statue of Magical Secrecy clearly states…" Randall said, trembling under the onslaught.

"Damn the bloody statue!" Hermione screamed. "You think just because they're Muggles they can't keep a secret? That's part of their job too, you know."

"It's simply too much of a risk!"

"And what happens when they realize they can't remember anything that's happened over the past month and a half?" Hermione demanded. "Do you have any idea what it's like to have blanks in your memory?"

"I suppose I don't," Randall admitted.

"Then maybe you're the one who should have his memory modified, so you'll know what you'd be subjecting them to," Hermione suggested. "If you're going to erase their memory you'll have to fight me first."

"And me," Ron piped in.

"We can put up a fight ourselves," Sydney added.

"Then I'm afraid you will have quite the fight on your hands," Randall replied, his fearful expression evaporating to be replaced by a smug one. "I meant what I said about the Muggles not leaving this room with their memories intact. The entire Auror force is waiting outside. They will not let you leave."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hermione said.

Randall's face melted back into fear. A second later an invisible hand knocked his wand out of his grasp.

"Think about what you're doing, Miss Granger!" Randall yelped as Hermione shoved him to the door, her wand pointed at the base of his skull. "Threatening the Minister of Magic is worth a life sentence in Azkaban."

"We'll see," Hermione shot back. Randall might have been larger than her, but she was more than his match in ferocity. "You are going to walk out of here, acting as though nothing is wrong. You will take us to the telephone booth, then up to the surface. Any slip ups and you won't see the outside of Saint Mungo's any time soon."

"What happens when we get to the surface?" Randall pleaded.

"You'll just have to find out when we get there," Hermione replied smugly. "Go."

Randall pasted a misshapen smile on his face and pulled open the door, Hermione just behind him with her wand still trained on its target but concealed up her sleeve. Ron, Sydney, and Michael followed, the Muggles sporting blank expressions at Ron's suggestion.

Several Aurors were waiting in the hall, but Randall waved his hand and they made no move, although some still looked suspicious. The group had a close call with an Auror in the elevator who seemed convinced that something was amiss. Hermione had to poke Randall into ordering the man to stand down. The atrium, however, had a pleasant surprise in store: Sturgis Podmore was standing guard near the restored Fountain of Magical Brethren and gave the group a stealthy wink, then set about pulling the rest of the Aurors off their guard.

When they piled out of the elevator into Muggle London a few minutes later, Randall's frightened demeanor had returned.

"So what happens now?" he stammered.

"I tell you that if you make any attempt to punish Ron or me for my actions, I'll tell the _Daily Prophet_ what you told Harry about modifying the memories of the patients in Saint Mungo's so they couldn't tell the world that the Death Eaters were back," Hermione replied. "Then we let you go. Do we have an agreement?"

The pair shook hands, but when they let go it was all Randall could do to keep from laughing.

"You silly girl, you realize you've accomplished nothing? There was no provision in our agreement about the memories of your Muggle friends."

"They can take care of themselves," Hermione said with a shrug.

Randall finally burst out laughing as he turned to look at his victims. "Against a group of Aur…"

He trailed off, the mirth slowly draining from his face. Sydney and Michael had disappeared.

"Sneaky blighters, them," Ron pointed out happily.

Randall couldn't seem to form the words to express his surprise and frustration and just stood there with his mouth gaping.

"Good luck finding them," Hermione added. "By the way, they're outside the jurisdiction of the Muggle Prime Minister, so I wouldn't bother trying it if I were you."

Valiantly struggling to contain their glee, Ron and Hermione watched the shaken Randall make his way back down to the Ministry through the telephone booth.

"They said goodbye," Ron said quietly.

"They'll be alright," Hermione replied.


	31. Stand Up and Be Counted

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, linoleum, ostriches, and tattoos are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. I also borrowed a bit from Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Earnest." All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from "Brand New Day" by Sting.

Author's Note: charmedgal005, if you're still reading, this chapter is for you. You've been asking me to give Sydney and Michael some lovin' pretty much since the beginning, and I finally found a place for it. Enjoy.

Also, to anyone who might be a bit concerned about Harry, I have good and bad news. The bad news is that he doesn't show up this chapter. The good news is that I was attacked by a particularly vicious plot bunny which centered around that very subject, and the result is a one shot called "Runner," which is all about Harry and what he's thinking about on his travels. If you're curious, there should be a link in my profile page.

**Epilogue 2: Stand Up and Be Counted**

When they finally arrived back in Los Angeles, all Sydney and Michael really wanted was to go home for a well deserved night's rest. However, that option was denied to them and they spent the next three days confined to the CIA office in a series of grueling debriefings with everyone from the head of the CIA to the American deputy Minister of Magic.

At long last, on the morning of the fourth day they were pronounced fit to leave and Sydney and Michael tottered, zombie-like, out of the briefing room.

"That took long enough," Michael muttered, further loosening his tie. Its knot had already been closer to his chest bone than his neck for most of the last two days.

"Did you see the deputy Minister when he realized we still had our memories?" Sydney asked. Every few words she would forget herself in her exhaustion and slip back into an English accent, a habit gained over the last month and a half. "I wonder if he and Randall were working together."

"I half expected him to pull out his wand and wipe our memories himself," Michael agreed as they stepped on a deserted elevator and he punched the level for the parking garage.

"He couldn't have done that if wizards ever wanted help from the CIA again," Sydney pointed out. "Randall had the advantage; he could have said it was an accident."

"Lucky Hermione was there," Michael said.

"You were right about them," Sydney replied around a yawn. "I was too hard on them when we first met; they were just doing the best they could."

"Don't be too hard on yourself about that," Michael said, rubbing her arms. "They were glad we talked to them about it, remember?"

"I know," Sydney sighed, stepping closer to hug Michael and enjoying the feeling of his arms around her. This was what she'd been missing for the past six weeks, this feeling of closeness that they hadn't been able to show physically.

"I'm glad you were the one there with me for all of this," Michael said, his voice rumbling through Sydney's chest.

"Me too," Sydney replied. She pulled away and looked up at him, and the next second they were kissing, allowing all of the pent up passion from the last six weeks to pass between them.

Far too soon the elevator ground to a halt and the doors opened. Forcing themselves apart, Sydney and Michael stepped off the elevator hand in hand and made their way to their cars.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Michael said slowly.

"Day after," Sydney sighed. "The bad guys are gonna have to go one more day without me."

"Good idea," Michael agreed.

--------------------

Sydney finally dragged her feet up the steps to her apartment around noon. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to take a shower or go to bed first, but neither idea lasted for very long.

Sydney stepped inside, closed the door, tossed her keys on the kitchen counter, and was promptly tackled to the floor. It took every ounce of will power she had to override her reflex to throw off her assailant and fight back.

"Francie!" Sydney exclaimed from under the weight of her best friend and roommate. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing!" Francie demanded. "You've been gone for a month and a half!"

"Francie, you're gonna break my collar bone," Sydney moaned.

"You'd deserve it," Francie replied, shifting her weight but not letting Sydney up. "I've been worried sick over you. You didn't even say goodbye, all I got was that note. I tried calling the bank but they wouldn't tell me anything."

Sydney sighed and began formulating an appropriate story. The pain of constantly having to lie to her best friend was almost past endurance. So was the guilt of having made her worry so much. Of course, the bank where Sydney said she worked wouldn't know anything, but hadn't the CIA promised that Francie would be well taken care of? Perhaps more than any time before, Sydney wished that she could explain everything, but it seemed horribly unlikely that Francie would believe a word of it even if she heard it. Sydney and Michael had been resistant to believing that magic exists at first, after all, and there had been a wizard in the room at the time.

"Sydney?" Francie sounded concerned.

"Yeah?" Sydney replied.

"You looked pretty blank there for a minute," Francie explained. "Are you all right?"

"Maybe if you let her up she'll tell you," said a third voice, belonging to Sydney's other friend.

"Will!" Sydney exclaimed, effectively throwing Francie aside as she sat up. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Longer than you've been there," Will replied. Sydney caught a flash of something behind his eyes. It looked a lot like curiosity, but it was different from Francie's, because Will was aware of Sydney's affiliation with the CIA and was obviously hoping that he might be privy to a truthful explanation for her absence. Sydney shot back what she hoped was a promising look, wishing she could tell him everything, but it was hopeless. Even if the wizarding community didn't object, the CIA would never allow it.

Nodding his thanks to Sydney, Will reached forward and pulled the two women to their feet. Sydney went to the freezer and dug out some ice cream while Francie found some spoons and the three of them convened on the sofa, crowding around the carton.

"So how 'bout it," Francie prompted as she scooped out a spoonful of ice cream. "What was so special about this business trip that kept you away for so long? Hey, where were you, anyway?"

"Great Britain," Sydney replied, her tongue a little numb from the ice cream. "I was up in Scotland for most of the time, but I spent some time in London."

"At least you can speak the language," Francie said with a shrug. "So what's in Scotland?"

"A lot more than you might think," Sydney replied, forgetting herself.

"What?" Francie asked, her eyebrows crinkling in confusion.

"A lot of the bank's clients up there were clamoring for their own branch so they don't have to go all the way to London every time they want to make a withdrawal. I had to head up public relations while they were building the place," Sydney improvised. "Scotland is a lot more than rolling hills."

"Why did they send you?" Francie asked. "Why not someone from the London office?"

"Don't ask me why they do what they do," Sydney said, forcing herself to laugh. "I just work there."

"Seriously, Sydney, next time you're gonna be gone for a month and a half you've got to at least give us a call," Francie admonished her. "At least let us know you're not dead."

"Sorry," Sydney said guiltily. "There weren't any phones around."

"Something happen to your cell phone?" Francie asked skeptically.

"They wouldn't let me take it," Sydney replied, forcing herself to look her friend in the eye. "Top secret bank stuff, shh."

"Listen, Syd, if you forgot about us the least you can do is admit it," Will said.

Sydney shot him a look: 'you're not helping.' Will merely shrugged.

Francie was looking more hurt by the second, so Sydney said, "I did not forget about you. I was just very busy. If I wasn't working I was sleeping, and there wasn't much time for that."

"I'm sorry Syd, I can tell you're tired," Francie sighed, finally relenting.

She got up, pulled Sydney to her feet, and sent her off in the direction of her bedroom. However, as Sydney passed the book case her eyes fell upon a better idea. She pulled a box off the shelf and held it up to show her friends.

"I think I've got a way to make it up to you."

"Scrabble?" Will asked skeptically.

"Oh, no, Syd," Francie sighed. "You're exh-"

Will cut her off with a wave of his hand and whispered. "Go with it, maybe she's so tired that one of us will actually be able to win for once."

Even Francie had to admit the appeal of this idea.

--------------------

"What are you trying to spell?" Francie asked as Sydney placed an O tile on the board.

"If I told you then you'd know my grand master plan," Sydney replied, slightly giddy. Too much alcohol and too little sleep wasn't making for a good combination.

"What, the making up words plan?" Will asked.

"You can't talk, Mr. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious," Francie snapped.

"That's a word," Will maintained. "There's an entire song about it."

"It won't even fit on the board," Francie sighed.

"It will," Will replied. "And when it does I'll be the one laughing as I rack in my five thousand points."

"Fine," Francie said, giving up. "What about your word, Sydney? I can't think of anything that starts out with 'lumo.'"

The unfortunate part was that Sydney couldn't think of a word either, other than the one she'd been thinking of in the first place.

"Lumos?" Francie asked when Sydney's turn came around again and she put down another tile. "Is that your whole word?"

"Yeah," Sydney replied, deciding, in hindsight, that it might have been wiser to abandon her word and move on to another one.

"Are you sure it's a word?" Will asked.

"It's Latin," Sydney replied, hoping she was right. "It means light."

"Isn't there a rule against dead languages?" Francie asked.

Will shrugged and fished out the game's instructions while Francie located the biggest dictionary in the apartment. However, that dictionary and two online encyclopedias later, Sydney still hadn't managed to prove that the word 'lumos' existed, Latin or otherwise. Thus, she had to give up on it, muttering, "I must have remembered it wrong," as an excuse, and in return, Francie and Will gave questioning her about it.

"It's better than Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious," Francie muttered as they returned to the game board. "At least it looks like a word."

"Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is a word," Will maintained.

"Find it in the dictionary, fit it on the board, then we'll talk," Francie offered, shoving the dictionary over to him.

Will licked his finger pointedly, and started flipping through the dictionary. A few minutes later he announced, "Got it."

"What?" Sydney and Francie yelped simultaneously.

"Right here," Will continued. "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, noun, the title of a song in Mary Poppins, generally accepted as the longest word in the English language."

"You do realize that you just lost whatever credibility you had with us," Francie muttered.

"What?" Will demanded. "That's what it says."

"There's got to be at least fifteen words that are longer than that," Sydney agreed.

"Only you, Syd," Francie sighed.

"What?" Sydney asked. "You do know that when I'm not at the bank I'm at school, studying this fair language that we're all speaking."

"Taken a course in long words, have you?" Francie pressed.

"I think we've gotten a bit off topic here," Will said.

"It's not a word, Will," Francie muttered.

"It's right here!" Will exclaimed, pointing into the dictionary. "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"

"And saying it louder won't turn it into one," Francie continued.

"Just makes you sound precocious," Sydney laughed.

"It's already something quite atrocious," Francie said, catching on.

"Quoting the song isn't helping your case," Will pointed out with a shrug as he placed another tile.

Sydney and Francie locked eyes over the board, then stood up simultaneously, clasped hands, and began dancing around in circles, singing, "There's no need for dismay, just summon up this word and then you've got a lot to say. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"

"How do you remember the words to that?" Will muttered as he got up to put the remaining beer back in the refrigerator.

--------------------

"Ron, are you alright? That's the fourth time you've retied your shoe since we got here," Hermione said dismissively, looking around the beautifully sunlit if slightly snow covered park as she paused to wait for her companion.

Ron sighed and cursed how observant she was, although he counted five attempts. Perhaps she hadn't noticed the connection to the time he'd called it off before he even made it to the ground and made out like he'd tripped instead.

"I heard George was working on something to keeping making knots untie, zippers unzip, and buttons come undone," Hermione continued. "Maybe he's using you as a test subject."

Ron knew his shoelaces were in perfect working order, but was grateful for the excuse and merely shrugged. For the moment, he had some serious thinking to do. Hermione was already getting suspicious, anything more like this and she'd know for sure that something was up, George's jokes or not. So this was it, right here, do or don't, do or don't, do or don't, or die, or do…

He reached a shaky hand into his pocket and pulled it out a small box.

or don't…

or do.

With a final surge or courage, Ron straightened up on one knee and opened the box.

"Hermione?"

He had, of course, thought a great deal about what to say, although he had never made it as far as practicing it, a fact he soon came to regret.

"I know we haven't always gotten along, but I think we've gotten over our differences, and I wanted to say that you are the greatest girl I have ever met, since I met you, and I think I love you, so would you, maybe, marry me?"

Ron winced. Brilliant delivery, really swept her off her feet, that did.

He suspected that Hermione had gotten the general idea of what he was asking, but she was clearly trying to get there they long was around, by sorting out what he'd actually said. All Ron could do was wait nervously as Hermione stared thoughtfully at him. At last she dropped down to her knees in front of him, a smile creeping onto her face.

--------------------

Author's Note: Don't forget to have a look at "Runner," if you're interested. Thanks for reading.


	32. It's a Long Way We've Come

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, extension cords, magazines, and boxes are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from "The Hands That Built America" by U2.

**Epilogue 3: It's a Long Way We've Come**

Harry had never seen a doll house before. In fact, he really only knew they existed because Dudley used to turn up the volume on his television as much for the commercials as he did for the actual shows. Still, as Harry gazed down upon a small town from his lonely perch atop his speeding Firebolt, he supposed that this must be what doll houses look like. There they were, lined up along their little streets, and toy cars would sometimes drive past. Entire cities spread out below him as he flew, with their parking lots and neighborhoods, all of it built for people the size of ants. It all looked so small and delicate, like one errant foot could destroy it all.

Harry flew so high that he couldn't discern the people below him. He supposed it was a wise thing, because it meant that they couldn't see him either, but it made the entire world look like one big ghost town. More than once Harry found himself thinking that it felt like he was the last person left on Earth, and he would have to fly lower until he could see the tiny people and assure himself that civilization still carried on without him.

When the pull to return to the ground and join the people there became too strong, Harry would occupy himself with observing the clouds, and before long he'd learned to recognize which clouds meant a storm was coming and which ones heralded a sunny day. He had never felt freer than when he was in the air with the cold wind whipping by him and tussling his hair. Occasionally, he would even forget himself and start searching for the snitch. It always hit him like a blow to the stomach when he realized that he was nowhere near Hogwarts and the Quidditch pitch where he'd spent so many of his days.

Once he happened upon a castle and, practically sobbing with happiness and relief at finally finding his way back home, he had nearly landed before he realized that Hogwarts was still very far away. Disappointment stabbed him like a knife as he climbed back into the air and it took every bit of resolve he possessed to keep from pulling out his the location rock he'd found in his parents' workshop and finding his way back to Hogwarts.

When Harry started his journey he tried to remember how long he'd been traveling, but he lost track after about two weeks. He felt like he was living in a place beyond time. Winter quickly crept up around him, but it also came and went depending on where he was. For all he knew, he could have already been traveling for months.

Harry thought often about Ron and Hermione, mentally apologizing to them for leaving and debating why he had gone and whether he should come back. He could almost see Hermione with her hands on her hips, telling him that he was being ridiculous, and Ron, saying that he understands that Harry felt like he had to leave, but that he really ought to come back. Sometime Harry even heard Ginny in his head, and it was those times that he actually turned his broom toward Hogwarts and started back before he'd lose his nerve and return to the direction he'd been flying before.

He was doing this for them, he constantly told himself.

Day after day, Harry flew on, with no idea of where he might have started and even less of an inkling about where he might be going. At night he'd curl up under a cloak and a bush or on a park bench, with his firebolt shrunken and concealed in his pocket. There he'd listen to the animals howl as he fell asleep, only to be rousted out by the police in the early morning, or sometimes long before.

As the sun set one night, Harry found himself freezing cold and high over a large body of water. He searched the horizon but could see no sign of landfall. He sighed, the event he'd secretly hoped for had finally occurred, and he pressed on, wondering if he'd come upon solid ground before he was too exhausted to carry on. He was fairly certain he wouldn't mind the outcome either way.

It wasn't until the moon was high above that Harry's feet skimmed the water. He started out of his daze and gained a few meters in altitude, but lost them again over the next few minutes.

So this was it, then. This was how the famous Harry Potter was going to die. It seemed ironic, that the boy who lived, who had survived more encounters with Voldemort than any other member of the resistance, wouldn't die in battle, or even as the result of a spell, but in an icy ocean. But, there was nothing to be done about it now. If this was dying, then it wasn't so bad. To the well organized mind…

With some effort, Harry convinced his frozen hand to release the broom and reached into his pocket for his wand. He nearly dropped the tool several times before he managed to manipulate it so that it was lying flat on top of his numb hand.

"Point me!" Harry whispered. He'd failed to realize until that moment how much the salty air had dried out his mouth.

The wand indicated that he was flying northeast, and since the last country he remembered being in was Germany, he reasoned that if he flew southeast he was likely to encounter land sooner or later, although the question was whether he'd happen upon it soon enough.

Harry doggedly rotated his Firebolt to the desired direction and continued on. He was not sure how long he went on like that, nor for how much longer he would last. His brain felt numb, like he hadn't seen anything but icy darkness in years. A darkness only broken by the stars above and their reflections in the water below, or was it reality below and reflection above? If he was flying upside down he would have fallen off long ago, wouldn't he? Maybe he already had. But there was something other than stars ahead, something brighter, closer, something he could reach. A ship, no, a shore.

Finally, Harry dragged himself to a Norwegian beachside hotel, and checked into a room. He didn't notice or care about the strange looks he eared by trying to pay with a handful of Galleons and Sickles. When Harry finally produced a stack of twenty pound notes instead, the proprietor, already intimidated by the fact that his new guest was soaking wet and toting a large broom that looked like it would be of absolutely no use for sweeping, didn't bother with insisting upon Norwegian currency.

Harry flopped onto his bed without bothering to undress, get under the covers, or even remove his waterlogged shoes and fell asleep almost immediately. He slept through almost all of the next day, but that evening ate his first warm meal in months. He thoroughly enjoyed it even though his senses were dulled by the beginnings of a massive head cold, the result of his negligence to get out of his wet clothes the night before.

Fortunately, the owner of the hotel was a man of few words and even fewer questions, a fact that was only exacerbated by his relatively limited command of the English language, so Harry was spared from having to concoct some lie about his strange behavior and appearance his first night there, although he was much more careful not to slip up and forget to act like a Muggle over the next few days.

Harry stayed at the hotel for over a week, until he deemed himself recovered from his cold enough to fly his broom without causing himself to pass out due to the changes in inertia.

Harry still wasn't sure what he'd intended to do when he left Hogwarts nearly three months ago, but he knew he still hadn't managed it, although he had eliminated one of the possibilities: to die. Since choosing directions at random no longer seemed like a wise option, Harry bought several maps of different regions of Europe, figuring that he might as well see some of the great sights while he was wandering.

After touring Sweden and Finland, Harry made for Moscow and Saint Petersburg then took his time exploring the nooks and crannies of Eastern Europe. After that his whimsy led him to Germany, or more specifically, to its castles, but glorious and ornate as they were, in Harry's mind, Hogwarts was still far superior. While he was there, Hedwig caught up with him, bearing a letter from Ron and Hermione. Harry wasn't sure at all how to respond to it, so he didn't, and moved on.

Unable to help himself, Harry actually stopped in Paris and joined a tour destined for the top of the Eiffel Tower. Although he couldn't help but marvel at the view with the rest of the group, it felt strange and somehow dizzying to be so high and still have solid floor beneath his feet. Suddenly, he longed for nothing more than to pull his Firebolt out of his pocket, return it to its normal size, and once again search out new horizons, which was more or less what he did, although he forced himself to wait until he was a sufficient distance from the city first.

As Harry soared over the French countryside in the general direction of Rome, he noticed something strange ahead: there was a forest covering a mountainside, and it was moving. The closer he got, the more he became aware that something strange was going on and the more he convinced himself that no Muggle beast or machine could cause so many large trees to behave in such a way.

Harry landed a short distance from one edge of the disturbance and crept slowly toward it, wand raised. As he advanced, Harry, hopeful for some hint about what he was about to encounter, considered what manner of beast might be perpetrating this destruction, but only a few came to mind. After all, even in the magical world, the ability to uproot a thirty foot tall tree by strength alone was hard to come by, and of the creatures that possessed the ability only a few would bother to use it for such a menial task. Perhaps there were trolls, but he should have smelt them by now.

"Harry?"

The wizard spun around and nearly cursed his visitor, but managed to restrain himself at the last second.

"Grawp, what are you doing here?"

"Grawp live here," the giant explained slowly. "Hagger take me here."

"Hagrid," Harry breathed. "Is he here too? Can you take me to him?"

Instead of answering, Grawp turned and took off through the dense forest. Not sure whether the giant intended for Harry to follow or not, the wizard nevertheless gave chase, first on foot, then, when he discovered himself incapable of matching Grawp's huge strides, he boarded his Firebolt and took to the air. This was hardly a better option, since Harry had to fly above the canopy and Grawp's rampage only manifested itself as a slight ripple once it reached the top of the trees, but eventually the forest opened up into a large, lake filled clearing, with a cottage and a dock on one side.

"Hagger," Grawp said, pointing out toward the lake.

"Thanks," Harry said, squinting out into the distance. As Grawp stomped off, Harry finally located a rowboat at the far side of the lake and flew over to it.

Hagrid had been absently contemplating a makeshift fishing line when Harry came up beside him and tapped him on the shoulder. The wizard soon came to wish he'd come up with a different method, for the boat, far too small for its cargo, nearly capsized when Hagrid turned to face his company.

"Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed as soon as the boat stabilized. "What the hell yeh doin' here?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I just wound up here, I guess."

"Wha' about Ron and Hermione?" Hagrid asked excitedly, looking around for them and nearly sinking the boat again.

"They're still in England, I expect," Harry replied.

"Where yeh should be," Hagrid agreed. "I though' yeh'd be half way done with yer Auror training by now."

"I haven't started yet," Harry sighed. "The truth is I'm not sure I want to be an Auror anymore."

"But I though' yeh always wanted ter be a dark wizard catcher," Hagrid stammered. "Tha's why yeh worked so hard on all yer N.E.W.T.S."

"I could only ever imagine myself as a dark wizard catcher," Harry replied, trying to think of when he'd ever given any effort to his N.E.W.T.S, but he was too happy to see Hagrid to correct him. "I studied so much because I thought I needed to in order to stop Voldemort. I guess I never really considered that there would ever be any other dark wizards to catch."

"Well tha' was a bit stupid of yeh," Hagrid said.

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry muttered.

"There are better ways of solvin' this than comin' out here and talking to me," Hagrid pointed out. "What are yeh really doin' here?"

"Hagrid, something's happened," Harry replied.

"What?" Hagrid demanded, once again nearly sending himself into the lake. "There's trouble brewin'?"

"No," Harry said. "Well…yes…there was, but we managed to stop it. It's a long story."

"Wha' do yeh say we go have a cup a tea, then?" Hagrid suggested, pulling out his pink umbrella. "Seems between the two of us we've scared off all the fish anyway."

Harry flew back to the dock and waited a few minutes for Hagrid to arrive, then, together, they walked to the cottage.

Hagrid busied himself about preparing tea and Harry sat down at the oversized table.

"So, this is where you've been all this time," Harry remarked. "It's nice."

"Here?" Hagrid said. "Nah, this is jus' temporary. My usual place is much closer to Beauxbatons."

"Oh," Harry said, wondering what else he'd missed.

"Yeh're a mess, Harry," Hagrid replied gruffly.

Harry didn't even bother trying to defend himself. His clothes were ragged and torn, his Firebolt had lost none of its grace in the air but most of its sleek appearance, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered to comb his hair, much less shave. He suddenly became much more self conscious when he realized that it must have been some time since he'd even taken a shower.

"So what's this long story you wanted to tell me about?" Hagrid prompted as he sat down and poured them both tea.

"The Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban," Harry replied. "They were trying to regain Voldemort's power, with Lucius Malfoy as their leader."

"No!" Hagrid exclaimed, jumping up so fast that he nearly toppled the table.

"Yeah," Harry muttered. He went on to explain about the entire effort to recapture them. However, as he was approaching the end of the story he was interrupted by heavy footsteps outside of the cabin.

Hagrid excused himself and stepped outside, and Harry could hear him talking to Grawp.

"Yeh finished with tha' side of the mountain, then?"

"Yes." Grawp's booming voice rattled the teacups.

"Well, yeh can take a break or move on ter the other side," Hagrid replied before stepping inside. "Muggles are plannin' ter log this forest, so I've got Grawp and 'is friends out searching for Fwoopers and other magical creatures so we can relocate 'em," Hagrid explained, noticing Harry's confused look. "Yeh still 'aven't explained wha' yer doin' 'ere, Harry."

"I just couldn't stay there, Hagrid," Harry replied. "Not after everything. I left Ron to die, and then I did it again, and that's-"

"Yeh said that Michael bloke made yeh leave," Hagrid reminded him.

"That doesn't make it any better," Harry sighed. "And that's not the worst bit. Hagrid, Fred died. A Death Eater killed him."

Hagrid stared at Harry uncomprehendingly for a moment, then he sat down with a force that would have crushed a lesser chair.

"Fred's gone?" he breathed.

Harry nodded, watching his tea gloomily.

It was several minutes before Hagrid was able to muster a reply.

"Maybe yeh'd better finish the story," he stammered finally.

Harry did, struggling to control his shaking voice. He left nothing out, not even what he, Ron, and Hermione learned about each other.

"Are yeh sure yeh got them all?" Hagrid asked when Harry finally finished.

"Fairly sure," Harry admitted. "We made sure that none of the Death Eaters in Malfoy Manor that night could escape, and hopefully the Ministry's picked up any stragglers by now, although I suppose I shouldn't count on it." Harry suddenly felt much less certain of himself.

"They're all in Azkaban, then?" Hagrid pressed, unable to repress a shudder when he mentioned the name of the horrible prison.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "The Ministry promised to tighten security, but you know how they are."

"Aye," Hagrid agreed.

"Well it was either that or kill the whole lot of them," Harry pointed out.

"And yeh might find yourself wishin' yeh'd done just tha'," Hagrid replied.

"Please don't say that," Harry begged. "Not unless you know what it's like."

"I suppose I don't," Hagrid admitted. "So yeh said yeh put an end to Lucius Malfoy. I wouldn't mind getting my hands on him myself, knowing what he did to Hermione. It's just lucky you and Ron came alon'."

"We didn't even realize," Harry said, staring into the fire. "Not for months. She did such a good job of covering it up. Sydney said that she envied me for my friends, because I had people that I could talk to without having to lie. Turns out we haven't been nearly as honest with each other as we should have."

It was some time before Hagrid managed to concoct a suitable change of subject. "Bu' wha' are yeh doin' out 'ere?"

"It's all my fault, especially what happened to Ron, Hermione, and Fred," Harry replied gloomily.

"Now yeh can' blame yerself for all tha'!" Hagrid exclaimed.

"I can try," Harry muttered.

"I'm sure the Weasleys and Hermione will want to see yeh," Hagrid maintained, "just ter know yeh're alright, at least. Have yeh even written to 'em?"

"No," Harry replied.

"Then go back!" Hagrid said. "Things can' possibly be worse than when yeh left."

"Hagrid, you haven't been in England in months, you don't know what it's like there. I'm not human, not according to most people. I'm some superhuman, hero of the planet, the chosen one," Harry spat. "I'm a curiosity, something people don't expect to see on the street, like I belong in a museum so that everyone can come and see and stare. I don't want to be me anymore, I would give anything to live a normal life and I don't deserve to be considered a hero."

"Yeh're normal ter me," Hagrid replied.

"Thanks."

"And a hero," Hagrid continued. Harry didn't respond, so Hagrid asked, "How are Ron and Hermione, then?"

"Better now, I guess," Harry replied, "but what's the date?"

"April twenty seventh," Harry replied, giving Harry a strange look.

"Then I haven't seen them in almost six months," Harry explained.

"Yeh've been ou' here for six months?" Hagrid demanded. "But what've yeh been doin' all this time?"

"Sightseeing, mostly," Harry admitted. "I felt like I had some things to figure out."

"I suppose yeh haven' found yer answers, then," Hagrid replied.

"I haven't gone back yet, have I?" Harry shrugged.

"So yeh haven' heard form Ron and Hermione at all?" Hagrid asked, perplexed.

"Well, I asked them not to try and find me or write to me," Harry replied, "but I did get this a few weeks ago. I expect you've gotten one too, or you will soon."

Harry pulled a folded not out of his pocket, its deep creases indicating that it had been unfolded and read several times. He held it out to Hagrid.

_You are cordially invited to the marriage of Mr. Ronald Billius Weasley to Miss Hermione Jane Granger, to take place at two o'clock in the afternoon on the first of July of the year nineteen hundred and ninety nine at the Alchemist Inn, Hogsmeade. Reception to follow in Hogwarts' Great Hall._

In spite of himself, Harry couldn't help but feel his spirits lift when he saw the note, a feeling that was contrasted by a sharp increase in the amount of butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

"Excitin', isn't it?" Hagrid asked, his eyes glittering.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, a bit reluctantly.

"Yeh will be going, won't yeh?" Hagrid pressed suspiciously.

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted.

"Yeh're not sure!" Hagrid exclaimed, jostling the table again. "They're yer friends, Harry, they'd want yeh ter be there."

"I wouldn't want me to be there," Harry muttered.

"Blimey, Harry, yeh are set on being depressed about this," Hagrid replied. "Why would yeh think tha'?"

"Because it's true," Harry said.

"Well, it shouldn' be."

"Hagrid, I've killed people!" Harry exclaimed. "I don't want to be around me. I'd just ruin the celebration, I can't do that to them."

"They wouldn' have invited yeh if they didn't want yeh to come," Hagrid pointed out.

"They would have if they knew I'd find out anyway and want to know why I wasn't invited," Harry countered.

"Then I suppose yeh still have some things to figure ou' then," Hagrid muttered dejectedly.

"Hagrid, I know that there are still dark wizards who want me dead, Wizards who weren't even Voldemort's followers," Harry pointed out. "That's never going to change, because somehow I've become the symbol of the good side, like Dumbledore used to be."

"Well, I think Dumbledore go' along jus' fine," Hagrid replied.

"That's the trouble, I'm not Dumbledore," Harry maintained. "I'm not this great powerful wizard. I'm just Harry."

"Yeh've said tha' before," Hagrid reminded him. "I think you've already proven yourself wrong. Yer Harry Potter, yeh won' ever be jus' anythin'."

"I am the new Dark Lord," Harry said, looking up at Hagrid.

"Now why would yeh say tha'?" Hagrid asked, tensing up in spite of himself

"Because it's true," Harry muttered.

"'Course it's not," Hagrid maintained. "Yeh haven' thrown in with the Death Eaters or tortured Muggles or any o' tha'."

"No, I haven't," Harry replied, "but that's not really what I mean. Think about it, Hagrid. There will always be wizards who agree with Voldemort's point of view and think that Muggles and Muggle-borns are scum. Then here I am, Harry bleeding Potter, savior of the universe, chosen one, beacon of light in the world, and symbol of tolerance, and they start to think, 'If I can just get rid of that Potter then no one will doubt my power.' So they start trying it, and before I even know they exist they've started gathering followers and killing Muggles and Muggle-borns. By the time I realize they're a threat they're already half-way to becoming Voldemort, and even if I stop that person there will always be another one to take his place. This is never going to stop."

"Tha' may be true," Hagrid admitted, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, "but it's not yer fault."

"I'm not saying it's my fault," Harry muttered. 'I'm saying I'm the reason for it. And I'll fight them, I will, but I can't fight forever. One day one of them will get the best of me, and what happens to the world then?"

"Savin' the world isn't your responsibility anymore."

"I put a stop to Voldemort and now everyone thinks I can solve anything. When the Death Eaters came back Randell went to me before the Aurors."

"Yeh don't have ter fight alone."

"Maybe that's why I'm here, because if no one can find me then they'll think I'm dead and the aspiring Dark Lords won't have a symbol of the light to defeat."

"Yeh can't run forever."

"I can try. I've lasted this long."

"I've never known runnin' away teh solve anything."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Yer friends need yeh, and I think yeh need them."

"I'd just be putting them in danger."

"They'd be willing to risk it."

"I'm not Dumbledore."

"No, yer Harry Potter."

"What good is that?"

"Have yeh stopped to consider that people need you because yeh are Harry Potter. Yeh give people something to aspire to. I wonder how many children hear yer story and say they want to grow up and be you."

"A few. They'd be better off if they didn't. I don't even want to be me."

"Maybe dark wizards see yeh as a threat, but everyone else needs yeh, because as long as yer around then things'll work out alrigh'."

"I'm so sick of this shit," Harry moaned, propping his head up on his hand. "I'm sick of wars and of being famous, and of everyone I love getting hurt so I don't have to."

"It can't last forever."

"You don't know that."

"Then maybe yeh shouldn't expect this peace we've got to last forever, just long enough"

"Three months, Hagrid. That's how long it took the Death Eaters to regroup."

"And maybe yeh got 'em for good this time. They can't fight forever either."

"As long as I keep on the move the people around me won't get hurt because of me," Harry sighed.

"If yeh put yer mind to it I think ye'll realize that yeh need yer friends as much as they need you," Hagrid replied.

"I'm not afraid for me!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yer welcome ter stay as long as yeh like," Hagrid said calmly, standing up and moving to a cupboard to look for some spare bedding.

"I should really keep going," Harry replied wearily as he stood up.

"Nonsense," Hagrid replied gruffly. "Yeh look like yeh haven' slept in a year, 'Arry! Yer stayin' the nigh' a' leas'."

"Thanks," Harry sighed.


	33. Wander My Friends

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related books, movies, stickers, filing cabinets, and forks are not mine. Additionally, I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias. All I own are my ideas, but they might actually own me. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Wander My Friends" from the TV show Battlestar Galactica, composed by Bear McCreary.

Author's Note: Alright folks, this is it, the last chapter. I'd like to give an extra special thanks to Blaine, charmedgal005, deborah, Fensta, Freidon, imgeorgenotfred, Laura242, potter-me-, RoughIslandSunrise, The Never Ending Nightmare, and everyone else who's reviewed, especially if I forgot to mention you. Enjoy.

**Epilogue 4: Wander My Friends**

Hermione yelped and lunged for her wand as she was shaken roughly awake. Only the fact that Ginny had already been awake for an hour saved her from the first spell Hermione's sleepy mind could concoct.

"Take it easy, it's me," Ginny said, unfreezing the witch, summoning her wand from where it had fallen behind the bookcase, and handing it back.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," Hermione admonished her, stretching and running a hand through her gnarled hair. "What are you doing here?" Hermione was beginning to wonder what she was doing there as well. She hadn't spent the night in her parents' house in years.

"You promised you wouldn't get drunk last night," Ginny said sincerely, but when Hermione shot her a look she changed tracks and said, "You've got one guess."

Ginny could almost see the gears in Hermione's head clicking into place.

"Merlin! The wedding!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up. "What time is it?"

However, before Hermione could locate the clock, Ginny whipped a blindfold over her eyes and tied it securely behind her head.

Hermione's expression, although obscured by the blindfold, was obviously exacerbated, but she didn't argue. "I asked for that, didn't I."

"All part of the traditions you wanted to invoke," Ginny confirmed.

"Are you at least going to tell me what time it is?" Hermione pressed, as Ginny helped her change blindly into her clothes.

"Time for you to let me stress out about the details while you concentrate on marrying my brother," Ginny replied smartly, then both girls paused as a wave of nervous energy coursed through them.

Similar revelations had been hitting Hermione at random intervals for months, like a befuddlement charm to the back of the head, but never so potently as it did just then. She was getting married, she was actually getting married.

"I guess it is," Hermione said breathlessly.

"Come on," Ginny replied, taking Hermione's elbow. "I don't know what your parents made for you, but it smells delicious downstairs."

"What time is it, Ginny?" Hermione pestered as she allowed herself to be guided out her bedroom door.

"Time for breakfast," Ginny maintained, helping Hermione to the stairs.

"I never would have guessed," Hermione muttered. "Anything else?"

"Seven thirty," Ginny relented.

"Six and a half hours," Hermione breathed and another wave of excitement passed through the pair.

---------------------

"George?" Ron called desperately, blindly feeling the air around him.

"Blimey, Ron, that took you long enough," George gasped.

"You try to visualize yourself appearing somewhere when you can't actually see," Ron muttered. "Can I take this off now please?"

"Not until you're inside, mate," George replied.

"Aren't I," Ron asked, a little nervous.

"You missed a little," George said. "We're standing in a flower bed across the street from the inn."

"Well I'm supposed to apparate all the way inside, aren't I?" Ron asked dejectedly.

"Yeah," George admitted, helping Ron out of the flowers, "but I figure its close enough, we wouldn't want you to get lost again."

"I was never lost," Ron pouted. "I just didn't know where I was all of the time."

"How many tries did it take you?" George pressed.

"Three," Ron admitted.

"I can see it now," George said dreamily. "Front page of the Daily Prophet: _Disappearing blindfolded boy surprises Muggles, when located later, the perpetrator claims he was simply trying to make it to his wedding. Ministry officials have decided that he will be spending his honeymoon in Azkaban."_

"Don't start," Ron muttered, brushing past George and hoping he was heading toward the inn.

"I think I'm starting to see why they did away with these traditional weddings," George said thoughtfully, grabbing Ron's arm and redirecting him in the true direction of his destination.

"Just starting, are you?"

When George finally removed his blindfold, Ron found himself in the middle of a room with a large mirror standing against one corner and three sets of dress robes and a tuxedo hanging on a rack. Ron sat down in the nearest chair and glanced at his watch.

"It's only eleven o'clock, what are we supposed to do for the next three hours?"

"Get ready, presumably," George said with a shrug. "Dunno what you're complaining about, Hermione's been here since nine."

"Well, that's because she has to do girly stuff," Ron replied. "Like get her hair done."

"Careful Ron," Ginny said from the doorway behind them, causing both Ron and George to spin around in surprise. "You'll have to check that attitude once you're married, I doubt Hermione would approve."

"Why do you keep sneaking up on us like that?" Ron asked. "This is the fifth time in the last three days."

"Because I can," Ginny replied with a shrug. "And because it's fun to watch your reactions. Hermione nearly cursed me this morning. The two of you have been fighting Death Eaters for far too long."

"We've noticed that, thanks," Ron muttered. "Why else do you think we would get married so soon?"

"You've known each other for eight years," Ginny pointed out. "That hardly seems like too short a time."

"You know what I mean," Ron muttered.

"What are you doing here anyway?" George asked.

"Hermione sent me to make sure you're still alive," Ginny replied, looking at Ron. "She's been in a state ever since she found out that you didn't show up with George."

"You realize you didn't have to tell her," Ron said.

"She asked," Ginny explained. "What was I supposed to do, lie to her?"

"It's a start," Ron sighed.

"Check that attitude, too," Ginny said. "The way Hermione tells it, you, her, and Harry have been doing enough of that."

"Yes, well, Harry's not here, is he?" George exclaimed angrily continuing a frequent argument. "You know that he should be here with you instead of me. Even after everything you lot've been though. I think he could learn a thing or two from-"

George continued mouthing silently for a few seconds before he realized that Ron had hit him with a silencing charm. After that he took to fumbling through his robes for his wand so he could make an attempt at the countercharm.

Ginny looked liable to continue her brother's argument, so Ron turned his wand on her but restrained himself from using it. Instead, he said, "If Harry felt like he needed to leave then he needed to leave, and he doesn't owe us an explanation. If he doesn't show up then it's his loss and not ours. Isn't that right?"

"Sure," Ginny muttered. George could only prove he had relented by nodding his head.

"Good," Ron said, wishing he could convince himself as easily. "Now if you don't mind, I have a wedding to prepare for."

Ginny slipped out and closed the door just as Ron stepped grimly in front of the mirror. She felt deflated somehow. She hadn't meant the things she had almost said about Harry, she just wished he would come back already, almost as much as she wished Ron and Hermione hadn't made her promise she wouldn't go and try to find him. Carefully, Ginny hitched a look of excitement on her face and crossed the hallway to the room where Hermione was getting ready. When she entered her Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger were making a valiant attempt at Hermione's hair.

"I don't see how you manage it everyday," Mrs. Weasley said as she smeared a large dollop of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion into Hermione's hair.

"I don't, mostly," Hermione admitted.

"It's been this wild for as long as I can remember," Mrs. Granger sighed nostalgically. "It used to give me such trouble when she was young."

"Well, not to worry, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied. "We'll get it sorted- now that's not helping!"

As soon as Hermione spotted Ginny she'd jumped up and raced over to her, looking quite deranged with scattered sections of smooth hair while the rest of it was just as frizzy as ever.

"Is he here?" she demanded. "Did he make it?"

"Yeah," Ginny replied.

"Oh thank you!" Hermione exclaimed, pulling Ginny into a hug before returning unsteadily to her chair.

"That boy!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, looking every bit as relieved as Hermione, even a bit tearful, as she resumed working on the witch's hair. "One might think he'd have the decency not to scare us like that."

"You know Ron," Ginny said with a shrug, scooping up a handful of the potion and adding it to Hermione's hair. "I doubt he could help it."

"He passed his Apparation test almost two years ago," Mrs. Weasley pointed out. "That's plenty of time to sort out how to do it with your eyes closed."

"It's harder when you're nervous," Hermione pointed out quietly. Ginny nodded.

Mrs. Weasley looked thoughtfully skeptical then said, "You may be right. I suppose when you've been Apparating for as long as I have you tend to forget these things."

They worked in silence for a few minutes, then Mrs. Weasley said, "I suppose that's done it, then. Pass me those flowers, Ginny, and we'll see what we can do with them."

---------------------

"Was one of the places you accidentally Apparated to a garbage dump?" George asked as he passed by Ron, who had gotten it in his head to try vanishing his freckles. George had been liberally exercising his reclaimed ability to talk ever since he finally remembered how to counteract the silencing charm a few minutes earlier.

"No, why? Does it smell like I did?" Ron asked, turning his nose to his robes to investigate.

"No," George replied. "I was just curious."

"Prat," Ron muttered, returning to his freckles.

George Disapparated somewhere and when he came back Ron had been just about to vanish the first freckle, but the loud crack reduced his concentration to rubble.

"I suggest you don't do that mate," George said. "Fred and I tried in our third year, it was disgusting."

"You tell me this now," Ron replied.

"I have exactly what you are looking for in my possession," George continued, holding out a small canister labeled Vanishing Cream. "Just nipped back to the shop for it."

Ron's face, which up until that moment had been covered in growing delight, now melted into suspicion.

"You try it first," Ron said.

"Oh come now," George laughed. "You know I don't have freckles."

"I'm not using anything that will make my head invisible or take off all my skin," Ron replied. "I know how you and Fred work…used to work…"

George pulled on a bored expression and checked his watch, but Ron had witnessed this method of defense too many times to believe it was genuine for a second. One only had to look at George to see how much he had been affected by his twin's death. His hair, which had always been relatively long as far back as Ron could remember, had now been cut short, as though George wanted the long haired look to always remain associated with Fred, and there was something in the way he spoke, like he expected someone to come along and finish his sentences but they never did.

"Sorry."

"So I've looked into this traditional wedding idea a little," George said. He started out slowly but gained speed when it became clear that Ron wasn't going to object to the change of subject.

"Have you?" Ron replied, cursing his lack of tact. Not only had he never meant to bring up Fred in such a way, but he'd been hoping that George's Vanishing Cream would be genuinely helpful, now it looked as though he'd never find out.

"Oh yeah," George breathed. "It's full of mystery and intrigue. The book I read said that a full traditional ceremony hadn't been performed in over a hundred years before it was published, and that was fifty years ago."

"You know Hermione," Ron said. "She probably figured this was the only way she'd ever get to see one."

"So this was Hermione's idea?" George asked, suddenly sounding a bit mystical.

"Well it wasn't mine," Ron muttered.

"I didn't think it was," George continued, "although I am a bit surprised that you let her go through with it. I read about this part they call the Union of Body…"

"What?" Ron demanded. He'd suspected all along that he should have done some research into the details of a traditional wedding, now he wished he'd listened to himself.

"Right up there, in front of everybody," George added, nodding. "And that's only the first part, there's two more."

Ron took off in the direction of the bathroom, his hand over his mouth. George followed close behind him, brandishing a toothbrush and yelling. "Wait up! You're gonna need this!"

Ron reached the bathroom with enough time to lock the door before George could barge in. He leaned over the toilet and spit out a glob of a bitter green substance but nothing else. His Mum had prepared an extravagant breakfast for him that morning, but he hadn't been able to stomach any of if at the time, which worked out to be very fortunate: he had nothing to throw up.

When he returned to the door, Ron discovered that the toothbrush had been poked through the gap underneath it. He picked it up and wrinkled his nose at the mass of dust, hair, and lint that came up with it, but he pulled that off, cleaned the toothbrush twice, and used it anyway.

Not feeling at all equal to stepping outside to face whatever new torments George had invented in his absence, Ron sighed and leaned up against the sink. He was being stupid, surely Hermione wouldn't invoke a ceremony that would require them to do anything…undiginified, or at least she would have mentioned it so that he would have a chance to object. Of course, it seemed entirely likely that George was joking, or at least exaggerating, as some sort of punishment for bringing up Fred.

It occurred to Ron that he had exactly the tool to solve this dilemma and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small mirror.

"Hermione," he said into it, fogging over the glass.

When the mirror cleared, it showed the interior of a dark pocket. A moment later a manicured hand closed around it but did not lift it into the light.

"How much longer do you think, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked.

"We're almost there, dear," she replied. "About another five minutes, I'd say. My word, I suppose you won't be able to call me Mrs. Weasley much longer."

"Much too confusing," Ginny agreed.

Ron sighed and settled in to wait, eavesdropping uncomfortably on their giddy banter. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Weasley pronounced Hermione finished and the bride excused herself to the bathroom.

"What's going on, Ron?" Hermione demanded finally. "You know we're not supposed to see each other right now."

"I'm not actually looking at the mirror, are you?" Ron replied.

"Well, no," Hermione admitted.

"Are you done getting ready then?" Ron asked. There was, after all, at least an hour and a half before the ceremony was supposed to begin.

"Not nearly," Hermione replied, sounding excited. "Our Mums and Ginny only just finished my hair. How are you coming along?"

"Fine," Ron said, fidgeting slightly. He hadn't wanted to lie to her, but he supposed it would be best not to admit that he hadn't even started getting ready yet.

"Is there any reason in particular that you called?" Hermione prompted.

"What, I'm not allowed to just say, 'hi'?" Ron asked. He could almost feel Hermione's annoyed look even though he wasn't looking at the mirror and knew there would be no quarter given. He had no choice but to give up his attempts at broaching the subject on his own terms. "Alright, fine. I was talking to George and he brought up the Union of Body part of the ceremony. He made it sound like we have to…I mean…not that I have a problem with…but there's gonna be all those people there…"

"And I suppose there's no possibility that he could have been joking," Hermione sighed.

"That did occur to me," Ron admitted, "but he sounded so serious and I just wanted to-"

"She's going to tie our hands together," Hermione interrupted. "That's the Union of Body."

"Oh," Ron breathed, much relieved. "Who's 'she'?'"

"Griselda Marchbanks," Hermione replied.

"Oh," Ron said. "Who's she?"

"A senior witch on the Wizengamot and possibly the only person who remembers how to perform a traditional ceremony," Hermione explained. "She supported Dumbledore, in case you're curious. If you paid any attention at all to the planning meetings you would already know this. Do you have your symbol chosen?"

"Yes," Ron replied defensively. She'd only brought that part up about a hundred times since she was so worried that he'd forget.

They stood in silence for a minute, unsure of what to say next but unwilling to call the conversation to a close.

Finally Hermione asked, "Have you heard anything about Harry? Ginny and your Mum won't talk about him."

"No, I haven't," Ron sighed.

"I've just been so worried about him, is all," Hermione replied. "We haven't heard from him in months. He's out there all by himself, there's no telling what may have happened to him."

"I'm sure he's fine," Ron assured her. "He can take care of himself."

"But he just took off on his broom," Hermione cried. "England's an island."

"Hermione, he'll be here," Ron said. "And if he's not then we'll go out and drag him back the first chance we get."

"He's had enough time," Hermione agreed.

"I think I understand why he felt like he had to leave," Ron continued. "But what kind of git misses his friends' wedding?"

"Ron."

"He thinks he's being noble and protecting us by staying away, well maybe he should have asked us first."

"He'll be here," Hermione reminded him.

"I know," Ron sighed. "I just can't help it, I guess."

"I understand."

There was a sudden knocking at the door to Ron's bathroom, followed by George's voice.

"Did a kelpie get you, mate? What are you doing in there?"

"Duty calls," Ron muttered, glaring in the direction of the door.

"I'll see you soon," Hermione replied.

"I can't wait," Ron said. "Have fun getting ready."

---------------------

Hermione was preceded into the room where the ceremony was to take place by a flurry of flower petals, which swirled into the room on a gust of wind and covered the floor on which she was to walk. A similar phenomenon involving twigs entered before Ron. The pair appeared simultaneously on opposite sides of the room to the applause of the assembled guests and began walking in time to the music to meet at the front. Ron's efforts toward that end were hindered slightly by a twig that took it upon itself to try and trip him up, George's idea, no doubt. After that, Ron paid much more attention to where he was stepping, but there was no repeat performance, perhaps because by that time George had been required to follow the groom out into the open and could no longer perform such a stunt without arousing suspicion in the surrounding witnesses.

Hermione, meanwhile, remained unbothered by such disturbances as she walked gracefully down the aisle, her elegant purple robes sweeping a few of the petals along with it. She reached Ron's parents and paused while Mr. Weasley kissed her hand and Mrs. Weasley pulled her into a hug then carefully checked her woven crown of hair and flowers.

Ron and Hermione then switched places and greeted their own parents. Before Ron had a chance to react, his Mum had showered him in wet kisses. When he was finally released, Ron shook his Dad's hand and Mr. Weasley kindly drew out his wand and cleaned the lipstick from Ron's cheeks.

Finally, Ron and Hermione met Griselda Marchbanks on a raised platform in front of a leafless tree.

"Good afternoon," Griselda said, addressing the room at large. "We have gathered to witness the Union of Body, Mind, and Spirit of Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley and Miss Hermione Jane Granger. Will the two of you please join hands."

Ron flashed a smile at Hermione and held out his left hand for her to take. She smiled back but reached for his right hand instead. Ron hadn't even come close to figuring out why holding right hands specifically was important, much less when he'd missed that fact, before Griselda pulled out a long piece of red ribbon and lashed their hands together. He didn't even have to try to escape to know there was no way unless someone untied the knot.

"Before we proceed I must offer both of you one last chance to back out," Griselda said.

"I won't be taking it," Ron replied promptly. Griselda wrinkled her nose at him.

"I stay," Hermione said. Griselda nodded approvingly then continued. Apparently that was the correct response.

"Then do you vow to protect each other?"

"I do."

"I do," Ron repeated, supposing he could have figured that response out even if he hadn't let Hermione go first.

The ribbon binding them together glowed bright orange for a moment then returned to its usual color.

"The Unification of Body is complete," Griselda announced to the applause of the guests. "Now will you kindly perform your symbols."

It worked out to be fortunate that Hermione had taken the time to explain this portion of the ceremony personally to Ron, for if she hadn't he would have been utterly confused by that statement. As it was, he awkwardly extricated his wand from his robes and held it up in his left hand, ready for what was to come next. Hermione, he observed, had a much easier time with her wand, having though ahead and placed it in a pocket where she could get at it easily with her left hand.

When they were ready, Griselda nodded for them to proceed and they raised their wands to each other's foreheads. When Hermione's wand touched Ron's skin he felt a strange wetness seeping out from it, as though someone had spilled paint on him. He was able to observe the effect of his own wand on Hermione: spindly brown lines were creeping across her forehead and forming into a picture of an open book with a tree growing out of it. It was strange, he was fairly certain he'd meant for her symbol to by a stack of books, but he liked this one much better.

Griselda turned to Hermione and asked, "What symbol have you drawn for Ron?"

"The bear of courage," Hermione replied, gazing at Ron's forehead.

"And what symbol have you drawn for Hermione?" Griselda said to Ron.

"The book of wisdom," Ron said.

"Do you each agree with the other's assessment of your character?" Griselda continued.

"I do," Ron and Hermione replied simultaneously.

"Then wear them and remember."

The pair pressed their foreheads together, their free hands behind each other's ears. A strange, tickling sensation covered the places where the symbols had been drawn. When it stopped, they backed away and Ron briefly saw the image of a bear on Hermione's brow before it raced off down the side of her face and under her robes. He could feel the progress of his own symbol for Hermione and was fairly certain that it halted near this chest bone.

"Do you vow to respect and listen to each other."

"I do."

"Then the Unification of Mind is complete."

Ron felt the tattoo burn into his skin where it would stay for evermore and saw Hermione wince at the effects of her own mark.

"Let us proceed then to the Unification of Souls," Griselda continued. "The rings, if you please."

Ginny and George stepped forward and offered over their charges. Hermione pocketed her wand and took Ron's ring from Ginny, and slipped it on his finger, saying, "Take this ring and wear it with pride, for it is a token of my love for you, which will still reign strong beyond the end of the Earth."

Ron took Hermione's ring and copied her movements, adding "I love you, Hermione, and there's nothing else I can say that could possibly mean more than that, so take my ring and wear it, the same way I do with yours."

"Well said," Griselda whispered as she leaned forward to untie the ribbon binding their hands. Even after they had been freed, Ron and Hermione found themselves reluctant to release each other. Griselda separated two lengths of the ribbon and tied them each into circles then handed one to Ron and the other to Hermione, who put them on like sashes.

"We now come to the Crossing of the Wands," Griselda said invitingly as she stepped aside.

Ron and Hermione turned to each other, pulled out their wands, and touched them together so that they formed an X between them. A shower of sparks sprang from the wands. The pair lowered their wands so that they could look at each other over the X, they then leaned together to kiss. As soon as their lips connected the intensity of the sparks increased tenfold. Suddenly, the tree behind them caught fire, but almost as suddenly as it had burst into flame it burst into bloom. The flames had magically disappeared and were replaced by flowers. A short span of time elapsed before Ron and Hermione broke apart to inspect it.

Smiling, Griselda returned to the pair, broke two twigs off the tree, and handed one to each of them. Then she turned them to face the assembled guests and announced, "The Unification of Souls is complete, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley."

Suddenly, everyone assembled sprang to their feet, clapping, cheering, and whistling.

Hand in had and smiling uncontrollably, Ron and Hermione ran up the center aisle, holding their free arms up to block the bulk of the sparks and flower petals the guests were raining on them.

When they had nearly reached the door, Hermione happened to glance over into the rows of seats and saw something that made her stop short, her face melting into an expression of pure awe. Ron, unaware that she had stopped, nearly pulled her over when the slack in their arms disappeared, but it didn't take him long to realize what had happened and come back to investigate. He was soon feeling just as surprised as Hermione.

There, standing in front of them, clapping wildly with tears in his eyes, was Harry, looking just as they remembered him. The three of them simply stood there for a moment, regarding each other silently, then Harry sheepishly raised his wand and added his own sparks to the others in the room.

Hermione pulled him out into the aisle and threw her arms around him. Ron soon followed suit. There was a thud and Ginny joined the group and another when George came up shortly behind her. Before long, old school friends, professors, Order members, and Weasleys had all joined in the massive hug and everyone cried and laughed together as the petals and sparks slowly drifted down to land on and around them.

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It was some time before the mass of people finally broke apart and started making their way to Hogwarts for the reception. Harry couldn't help but pause to admire the view. He'd forgotten the way that the sun would gleam across the lake and catch on the windows of the castle in late afternoon and how big the surrounding mountains looked. For a moment he found himself wondering why he'd ever left.

Eventually Harry became aware or the stares he was getting from the Weasley clan and, seeking a distraction, he busied himself with making sure Hermione's relatives suffered no ill effects from the Muggle repelling charms on their way into the castle. He couldn't help but smile at the awed expressions on her young cousins when they saw the Entrance Hall.

"Does a king live here?" a girl asked. "Will we get to see him?"

The girl's mother didn't seem at all sure of the answer to that question, so Harry, who had been approaching the group anyway to point them in the direction of the Great Hall, replied, "Not exactly, this is a school."

The three youngsters looked perfectly ecstatic at the possibility of going to school in a castle.

"It's the finest sort of school," Harry continued, kneeling so he could speak with them face to face. "There are adventures to be had here and you can never be quite sure what to expect, except for the unexpected. Isn't that right, Ginny?"

The witch in question had been striding over with a mind to tell Harry that he ought to wait to play tour guide until after the formalities of the reception were over with, but now under the scrutiny of her new family-in-law, she put on a pleasant face and said, "Sure is."

"What kind of adventures?" one of the young boys asked.

"Any kind you can think of," Harry replied as he and Ginny began guiding them to the Great Hall.

"With monsters?"

"Yep, there are plenty of those."

"And damsels in distress?"

"Those too." Ginny shot him a look and he added, "on occasion. Sometimes it's the boys who need rescuing."

"And pirate's treasure?"

"I dunno," Harry admitted with a shrug. "I've never seen any, but it's a pretty big place, there could be some around."

"Do we get to have an adventure?"

"I'm pretty sure you're about to," Harry replied as he pushed open the wide oak doors to the Great Hall.

All of the children's eyes at least doubled in size when they caught sight of the place and they raced inside to explore. Even Harry had to admit he was impressed. The configuration of the room had changed so it was set up in much the same way as it had been during the Yule Ball, but instead of being covered in snowy silver the room was positively brimming with color. Flower petals, candles, and sparks were all floating lazily in the air. It was impossible to step into such a room and not be overcome with a happy excitement.

George came up and told Ginny that Ron and Hermione were just arriving, and together with Harry they busied themselves with forming the guests into a tunnel for the newlyweds.

A few minutes later Ron and Hermione burst inside to a roar of approval from those assembled, then ducked low and raced through the tunnel of raised arms. Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever seen them looking quite so happy before. When they reached the end of the tunnel, Ron lifted Hermione up and spun around with her a few times, then pulled her into a kiss.

When everyone started to take their seats, Harry hung back, knowing that there wouldn't be a place designated for him and hoping that he could find an empty seat after everyone else had sorted themselves, but Ginny would hear none of it and pulled him right up to the head table to sit with the rest of the wedding court.

The house elves, already famed for their feasts, had outdone themselves. There was a marked decrease in the amount of noise in the hall while everyone helped themselves to the food.

As the meal drew to a close, the quiet was interrupted by the repeated clink of metal on glass, which was echoed by one person and then another until the entire room was filled with it.

"What's that for?" Ron asked around a mouthful of potato as the clinks grew steadily louder.

Hermione, brushing crimson, said, "Swallow your food and I'll show you."

Looking surprised, Ron did as he was asked, then Hermione leaned forward and kissed him, prompting the clinks to be replaced by a round of cheers.

"That some Muggle thing?" Ron asked when they broke apart.

"Yeah," Hermione replied. Her cheeks had yet to lose their reddish tint.

"I kind of like it," Ron continued with a shrug.

"You'll probably revise your opinion when they start doing that every five minutes or so," Hermione muttered.

"Well we couldn't have that," Ron said with a smirk, standing up and offering Hermione his arm.

Together they walked to the dance floor and began awkwardly waltzing to a slow tune which had struck up from apparently nowhere as they approached. Traditionally, they were supposed to have the entire song to themselves, but about half way through, the pair sent a distressed look in the direction of the head table. Sensing their dilemma, Harry stood up and asked Ginny to dance. She accepted.

Several other couples followed them onto the floor, including Ron and Ginny's parents, who, astoundingly, could dance as though they'd spent their entire lives practicing.

Meanwhile, now that he had Ginny back in his arms, Harry found himself vehemently opposed to ever being without her again, but picking up where they'd left off two years ago wasn't such an easy proposition.

"How did your N.E.W.T.S. go?"

"Alright," Ginny replied. "We haven't gotten our results back yet, but I think I might have done better if I hadn't been worried about whether or not I'd ever see you again."

"Ginny, I'm sorry…"

"You didn't have to leave, you know. Everybody thinks so even if they won't admit it."

"Dark wizards have a way of not leaving me alone," Harry pointed out. "I couldn't take it if someone else got hurt or died because of me."

"You want to protect us, we get that," Ginny continued. "But we can protect you too. Friends have a way of helping each other, but I suppose you forgot that."

"I remember," Harry said. "I guess I just had to leave to realize it."

"I'm through with waiting for you."

"I never asked you to wait," Harry said carefully.

"I did anyway," Ginny replied.

"I'm through with making you wait," Harry said, pulling her closer.

It was at least an hour and a half before Harry and Ginny left the dance floor in search of drinks. They sat enjoying their butterbeers and watching the alternating mirth and disgust of Hermione's cousins. Three of them were watching Nearly Headless Nick as he carried on normal conversations with passersby, pointedly unaware that his head had slipped free of its ruff and was resting precariously on his shoulder. Every once in a while one of the youngsters would work up the courage to reach out and touch his silver robes, squealing with delight when their hand reached straight into him and they felt nothing but cold.

Eventually, they noticed that Harry was watching them and came over to talk to him instead. Nearly Headless Nick promptly righted his head and shot Harry a look of thanks before floating off to pursue his own devices.

"What are your names?" one of them asked as they sat down.

"I'm Harry and she's Ginny," Harry replied, pleasantly surprised by the question. It had been some time since he'd had the opportunity to introduce himself to anyone. "What are your names?"

"I'm Jake, he's Kyle, and my sister's name is Michelle."

"Well it's very nice to meet you," Harry replied. "Are you having fun?"

"This is a big place," Kyle said. "It doesn't have a ceiling."

"Oh, the ceiling's up there," Harry explained. "You just can't see it because someone made it look like the sky is in the way."

"Do you have magic?" Michelle asked.

"I suppose you could say that," Harry replied. He suspected that if he found Luna Lovegood and brought her over here she would have gotten along famously with these three. All of them seemed to enjoy jumping from topic to topic.

"My cousin Hermione has magic too," Jake recited, looking at the ceiling for inspiration. "And we're here so we can see her get married to someone else who has magic. He has the same color hair as you," he added, turning to Ginny.

"Yes he does," Ginny replied. "He's my brother."

"Oh," Jake said, but he looked confused. Apparently he was under the impression that anyone who was old enough to get married was too old to have a sister. "Does that mean you're my aunt?"

"Actually, I'm your cousin now too," Ginny explained. "You just got a bunch more cousins. Weird, huh?"

Jake nodded, looking perplexed.

Kyle turned to Harry and said, "That's a funny scar you've got."

"I suppose it is a little funny," Harry replied. He'd never thought of his scar that way before.

"Did you fall?" Kyle pressed. "I felled off my bike once and cut my elbow and I gotted a scar from it, see? But it doesn't look like yours."

"That's a pretty long story," Harry started.

"Will you tell it to us?" Michelle begged.

"Sure," Harry said, wincing as Ginny elbowed him in the ribs. "I promise I'll tell it to you, but not right now." He turned to Ginny, looking for a reason why he'd just said that.

"Look," Ginny said, pointing to the dance floor, which was slowly beginning to clear. "I think Ron and Hermione are about to catch the horse."

"There's a horsie?" Michelle asked, jumping up and down to try and see it.

"Sort of," Harry replied, lifting her on to his lap so she could behold the elegant white steed being pushed forward on a cart. "It's made of cake and they have to catch it so we can eat if for desert." He'd watched a similar endeavor at Bill and Fleur's wedding, although Fleur hadn't actually participated much.

"That doesn't sound hard," Jake interjected, standing up on a chair.

"But someone did a trick on it so the cake thinks it's a real horse," Harry continued, "and it doesn't want to be caught."

"My Mommy said there would be cake, but she said they would just have to cut it," Kyle said, sounding confused. "She said her favorite part is when they smush it in each other's faces."

"There could be plenty of that," Harry admitted. "Depending on how long it takes them we might have to eat our way out of a pretty big mess."

"We have to eat a horsie?" Michelle asked, sounding worried.

"It's not a real horse, remember?" Harry said. "It's just a cake that thinks it's a horse. Look at this."

Harry drew out his wand and pointed it at the nearest teacup. Immediately, it started to dance wildly around the saucer. Jake, Kyle, and Michelle watched it, awestruck. They all looked disappointed when it finished its performance a few seconds later.

"See," Harry said. "I made that teacup think it was a dancer, but it was still just a teacup."

"Oh," Kyle breathed.

The children's questions ceased as the horse sprang to life and Hermione and Ron made their first attempt at capturing it. Hermione tried walking benignly toward it, hand outstretched as though all she desired was to stroke its nose. Simultaneously, Ron came up behind it, carrying a rope with a loop tied in one end. Just as he was about to slip the rope over its neck, the horse saw him and slipped away. Ron and Hermione regrouped for a second attempt, but the horse seemed to have wised up to their intentions by now and was determined to do all it could to deter them. A wild dance ensued with Ron and Hermione darting first one way and then the other, but the horse always managed to elude them. A chorus of laughter ensued every time they missed and Harry was fairly certain he could see George taking bets on how long it would take them. Ron and Hermione seemed to be having the time of their lives but before long they called the escapade to a close and positioned themselves on opposite sides of the horse. They rushed at it simultaneously and pinned it between them. The horse struggled to free itself, but together, Ron and Hermione managed to slip the loop over its head. The horse immediately stiffened then melted into an elaborate, multi tiered cake which was promptly lifted onto a nearby table.

Ron and Hermione bowed to the applause, white frosting smeared all down their fronts, then pulled each other into a tight hug, effectively getting the frosting on any parts of their robes the horse missed. A few seconds later, George bounded forwards and jumped at them, getting frosting all over himself as well.

After a few more people repeated George's performance, the group stepped out momentarily to clean off their robes while the cake was distributed. When they returned, Harry turned to Jake, Kyle, and Michelle and excused himself, saying there was something he needed to do. They were already munching happily on their cake and didn't seem to mind, but Ginny got up and followed him, clearly intending to thwart any attempts he might make to run away again.

However, Ginny's fears proved baseless and, instead of heading for the door, Harry walked up to the head table and located his glass, holding it up for attention. He waited for the chatter to die away then cleared his throat, turned to Ron and Hermione, and began.

"I'm not sure if I really have any business here, after I left for such a long time, but I just wanted to say thanks. The two of you were always there for me even when I didn't want you to be, and if you hadn't been there then things might have turned out a lot differently. You were the heroes, not me. So, to the two greatest friends a wizard could ever have. May the future come easier to you than the past."

Harry lifted his glass again and drank from it, and everyone else did the same. The guests returned to their previous conversations, but Harry saw that many eyes looked a bit wetter than they had before, his own included.

As the party began to come to a close, word circulated the hall that the bride and groom would be leaving soon and the guests assembled in the Entrance Hall to wish them well and see them off.

Harry joined Ginny and George in their positions closest to the carriage and thus was one of the last people Ron and Hermione saw before they left.

"Ginny says you're going to France for a couple weeks," Harry said as the three of them embraced.

"That's right," Hermione replied.

"I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time. Be sure to visit the Eiffel Tower, it's beautiful at the top, even during the day."

"Thanks," Ron said.

"Well, good luck you two," Harry continued as they pulled apart.

"Harry," Hermione said, a slight panic rising in her voice. "You will be here when we get back, won't you?"

Harry smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

THE END

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Author's Note: Many, many thanks to the people who have reviewed, and, to everyone, I hope you enjoyed the ride. Now, I have something to say that may interest you.

Ever wondered what that curse really did to Ron? Why Harry decided not to tell Ron he left him behind? What made Hermione decide to erase her memory? Why Randall became Minister? Why Harry and Ginny hadn't gotten back together by the time this story started? All those answers and more can be found in a prequel I've written called "The Interlude," which I'll start posting next week. It starts just after the Final Battle against Voldemort and follows the next month as the wizarding world attempts to recover from the war.

So, I hope that sounds interesting to some of you. If you'd like to give it a read but are worried about not being able to find it, leave an email or some other way to contact you in a review and I'll send you a link when the first chapter goes up.

Once again, thanks for sticking with this story. I hope you enjoyed it.


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